


Truths in the Dark

by wali21



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Arthur (Inception), Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff, Frottage, Inception Big Bang 2020, Inception Big Bang Challenge, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Pining Arthur, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Eames (Inception)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wali21/pseuds/wali21
Summary: Truth comes in all shades; it’s the truth you tell yourself that’s most important.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73
Collections: Inception Big Bang 2020





	Truths in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by the AMAZING [Hidey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideyseek/pseuds/hideyseek) and thank you for being so sweet and helpful giving comments and making this fic SO MUCH BETTER than it started out as. You are so supportive, kind, and brilliant! <3!
> 
> Big thank you to an amazing [mod](https://dreaminghigher.tumblr.com/) for the hard-work and lovely job you do running everything! <3!
> 
> THANK YOU to all who read/click this! You are amazing and make my day SO BRIGHT! I adore each and every one of you! <3!
> 
> Insanely GORGEOUS, BLOW YOUR MIND [artwork](https://glasspunkart.tumblr.com/post/625267591897907200/illusts-i-did-for-wali21-of-her-absolutely) by @glasspunkart! You are so artistic and talented and a beautiful human. I had so much fun working on this project with you. <3!

It starts like this – a job gone wrong. And a dark closet. It’s ridiculous and Arthur is going to pretend it never happened.

They’re hiding from projections, during an extraction gone wrong, and instead of shooting themselves out of the dream and trying again, like Mal would’ve done, Cobb wants to keep going forward. Just like Cobb, honestly. Arthur knew having an architect become an extractor was a horrible idea in the making. But he’d wanted to learn and what was Arthur supposed to say, no?

Oh wait, Arthur did say ‘no’. Cobb wasn’t ready. Isn’t ready still in Arthur’s estimation.

But he trusts in his team.

Mal said Dom was ready for a proper extraction, and with Mal being out of commission with the pregnancy, it made some sense, and stupidly Eames had agreed. At least Arthur can blame Eames for that. And maybe Mal.

But Mal would do anything for Dom, and Dom would do anything for Mal, so that doesn’t count in Arthur’s book.

Now look where they were. Hiding in a freaking closet, Eames out of his forge, Arthur with enough weapons on him to stop a small army of projections, and waiting for the kick or the time to run out.

Arthur has half a mind to just go up against the army of projections and see what happens.

But he’s the dreamer. And really doesn’t want to see the disappointed faces of his teammates if they could have completed the extraction but didn’t because of Arthur’s trigger-happy fingers.

Eames seems to be doing worse than he is. He’s sweating, breath labored, and looks like he’s about to faint.

“Eames?”

“I’m fine, Arthur.” Eames barely gets out on a short breath.

“You’re not.” Arthur states seriously. They don’t have a contingency plan for Eames being out of commission if something goes wrong. Arthur doesn’t have a contingency plan.

Eames doesn’t say anything.

“C’mon, tell me.”

“Not a big fan of small spaces, am I, darling?” Eames lets out between gritted teeth.

“Oh! Oh.” Arthur can now clearly see the signs of the beginning of a panic attack. Shit.

“Right.” Arthur says. “Won’t be much longer. Promise. Try and breathe slowly. Close your eyes. Think of something happy.”

“Like your arse in those jeans that one job?” Eames barely gets out, cheeky even in the mist of the beginnings of a panic attack.

Good, good, he’s joking. Arthur can deal with that. With taking care of Eames. If only for awhile. Thankfully, Mal is up top and won’t be able to use this little situation to continue her campaign to get Arthur to admit he has feelings for Eames.

Arthur puts his hand on Eames’ shoulder, something to ground him. That’s all. It’s not like Eames is special.

Arthur would not call it comfort.

Arthur’s heart would disagree.

***

The next morning is changed. Feels changed.

Like Arthur had just learned one of Eames’ biggest secrets. Of course, that’s not true. Can’t be true with the work they do. Not his biggest secret and probably not even on Eames’ radar as something so important. Just it feels like his world has turned upside down. Having that trust from Eames. It’s crazy how Eames can just give that to him.

They don’t talk about it.

Arthur knows more than he’d like to about the way Eames loves his coffee, when he’d rather drink tea, the way art is a passion for Eames, not just a means to an end, the varied interests that compliment Arthur’s so well. The way they’d fit so well together.

How easy it would be to let Eames in.

But no. It would go wrong. Eames would go on like nothing has changed, that’s just who he is. Maybe he’ll change someday, but today is not that day.

And until then, Arthur will keep the present circumstances unchanged.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want him. And everything that goes along with that.

Arthur will just deal with his emotions. Lock then up in a safe inside his head where even the best extractor will never get to them. 

The ones that _can’t_ exist. For they will break him.

***

The day starts early, sunrise not even a glimpse on the horizon when Arthur gets to the second story of the building. It’s the first day of the newest extraction and Arthur needs to make sure everything is in its proper place and ready for use. Being the best Point Man in the business is no easy feat.

He is ready by the time the rest of the team stubble blearily into the space, coffee or tea in hand. Arthur might be the one the team goes to for anything or everything but they can get their own damn drinks.

Eames walks over, stumbling a little bit in his hast around Arthur’s desk to set a steaming cup of coffee on the edge.

Arthur looks up at Eames then back to the coffee. He picks it up, taking a strong whiff, then sets it back down to cool off.

“Thank you, Mr. Eames.”

“Always, darling.”

Arthur tries not to blush. Eames is just flirting like he constantly does. It means nothing.

Their customary coffee flirting just digs into Arthur a little more each job. It means nothing, damn it.

They get to work.

***

“How was the coffee, darling?”

“The same as always, Eames.”

“Perfect then.” Eames says with a wink.

“C’mon, planning session.” Arthur commands, pointing to where the rest of the team is assembled, talking amongst themselves, but obviously waiting on the two of them.

The team gathers around the middle of the space, taking the nice seats Arthur had specifically prepared beforehand for their first planning session for the job. The extractor for the job, Raul, gets straight to the point of the mission and lets the team contribute ideas for their parts of the job without much contradiction.

“Now, the client, an oil tycoon, hired us to extract sensitive documents from his main rival, Olivia Roderham,” Raul begins, laying out the details of the job. 

“Always boring but lucrative work,” Eames quips.

“True, true. Now, the client wants the documents within three weeks. Plenty of time for this job.”

“Arthur, how is the research coming along?”

“Good, I’ve already started the dossier on the mark, prepared preliminary documents and photos for you and Eames to look over, and hacked into the mark’s business and personal computers. I should have more intel to share in a few hours.”

“Good job, Arthur.” 

“Thank you.”

“Eames, walk us through what you’re thinking,” Raul asks politely.

“The secretary on this one, I think. I tailed the mark this morning to her office and the body language showed a distinct interest from her towards her secretary. She no doubt confides in her. We should be able to leverage that relationship within the dream.”

“Sounds like the start of a plan. Good job all of you. Now, let us get to work.”

It is a simple enough job for the small team to accomplish. Arthur continues the research he started on that morning, digging deeper into the mark and now her secretary too, and the architect is drawing up a preliminary maze based off of the building’s floorplan.

Eames is looking at documents and photos of the mark that Arthur had prepared while waiting for the team to show up, plus the additional photos he took that morning, and Raul is looking over the plan they have outlined so far, examining it for flaws or other problems that might arise and then planning for contingencies.

In the afternoon, they stagger their lunch breaks, making sure someone is always in the room with the PASIV.

Arthur barely leaves his computers or phone except to go out for a quick coffee, trying not to think of Eames’ earlier coffee drop off and the flirting. He stops for an even quicker lunch, which he brings back to eat in front of his laptops.

Somehow two hours have already passed.

And when Arthur looks up next, Eames is slouching all over the side of Arthur’s desk, not moving or anything, just perching on the side staring at Arthur. 

Arthur blinks twice.

His situational awareness when it comes to Eames has always been finicky at best. But he doesn’t want to think about that. Letting his feelings so obviously show through his body’s betrayal makes Arthur angry with himself. And Arthur is too busy right now for that. 

“Take a break, Arthur.”

“What? No. I’m busy. Go away, Eames,” Arthur even makes the little hand gesture thing to get Eames to leave. 

“Please, pet?”

Eames and his stupid nicknames.

“What? What’s so important?”

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“Not right now, Eames.”

“You are wrinkling that beautiful Anto shirt slouching over like that all day.”

“Do I even want to know how you know where this shirt is from?”

“Probably not, darling.”

Arthur tries not to roll his eyes. He doesn’t win. 

“C’mon now, up you get.”

Arthur reluctantly gets up and follows Eames outside their second floor space to the small balcony.

Outside there are two chairs and a tiny table, with, if Arthur is not mistaken, is glasses of lemonade.

“What’s all this?”

“Sit, darling.”

Eames pulls out one of the chairs and Arthur grudgingly sits down. Eames takes the other chair. Arthur slowly picks up the glass and takes a sip. It perfectly chilled and tastes wonderful after being inside all day.

“Good, right? The chef’s recipe.”

Arthur could ask a million questions just from that but refrains. He takes another sip and closes his eyes, savoring it.

When he opens his eyes, Eames is looking right at him. Arthur can’t read the expression on his face.

Arthur sits back with Eames, drinks his lemonade, and looks out over this beautiful city, something Arthur never really takes time to appreciate when on a job. He smiles softly.

Arthur wonders what this small but profound gesture means from Eames.

But he’s not letting it distract him.

Feelings don’t belong on jobs.

***

The architect pulls him away sometime after his lemonade thing with Eames, wanting to show him a simple form of the maze, something Arthur is used to learning quickly and memorizing even without having full knowledge of the end result. It’s something Arthur has done many times before and always enjoys. 

Arthur and Eames go under in the late afternoon. Just a simple test run of Eames’ possible forge for the job and a barebones idea of the landscape from Arthur. Nothing complicated. 

Except something is weird with Eames’ projections. They wander around the maze without a care, not looking for the dreamer, even when Arthur starts changing the landscape just for fun. Arthur becomes wary, dreaming up his holster and Glock just in case.

Eames is working so Arthur leaves him to it. Instead, he works the maze into a beautiful paradox, taking more pleasure than usual from creating on a job.

At home it’s different. There Arthur can lock himself inside his residence, make sure all the physical security is in place, and go under. Dream up the most creative and imaginative things he can think of in the span of hours.

Dreaming can be addictive.

Arthur knows all about that from past co-workers.

But he can’t say he has ever met a dreamer that hasn’t been addicted in some form or another.

When changing the dream becomes banal, Arthur goes off to watch Eames in his special dark space, lit only by a single light above, surrounded on three sides by full standing mirrors. He slides beside Eames, not disturbing him.

Just watching.

It’s always fascinating to Arthur the way he works. The time it takes for him to perfect a forge. Turning himself into someone completely different. The amount of skill that he makes look so effortless.

And Arthur forgets everything but him. Having him near lately is the best thing Arthur can hope for, yet he stirs up emotions he’d rather not think on.

Arthur tries not to think about what Mal keeps nudging him into doing.

“Going to stand there and just watch, darling?”

Eames drops the secretary forge.

“I’ve ran what I can of the maze. And then changed the maze here and there. Did you know your projections act weird?”

“Not a clue what you’re talking about.” Eames remarks. “Now, c’mere and try this.”

“What?”

‘C’mon, Arthur, it’ll be fun, promise.”

Arthur comes over to Eames facing towards him. Eames gently turns him around in front of him, big hands settling on his shoulders and running across his upper back, turning and letting Arthur look at his reflection in the three-way mirror.

“Remember that one job, when Mal made you change your suit for jeans and that lovely paisley shirt with the short sleeves?

Arthur rolls his eyes, trying not to frown. Of course he remembers that dreadful job. Acting on the fly. Having to walk and talk like a college student because of what they found in the mark’s subconscious. Having to actually interact with the mark. Arthur dislikes when plans go awry.

“Yes. I remember.”

“Now, close your eyes, and think of doing the same thing, changing your clothes.”

“What? Why?”

“Just try, Arthur.”

“Fine.”

Arthur closes his eyes, thinking of a suit he’d just seen at the last runway show he was able to attend. It wasn’t his usual taste but there was just something about it that called to him.

“Very nice. Very interesting style, pet.”

Arthur opens his eyes. He’s in the suit he’d seen, the shades of dark blue just a little different, the suit more tailored to his body type than the original.

“What is the point of this, Mr. Eames? I’ve done this before.”

“I know you have. Clothes are the easiest. Lose a tie here, change the stripes on a shirt there, create whole costumes while going deeper. You’re good at it, pet.”

“Thank you, Eames.”

“But now, try your eyes.”

Arthur closes his eyes, thinking up the stormy-gray color that’s always fascinated him on others. On Eames sometimes when he’s in a certain mood. He opens his eyes.

They haven’t changed. He frowns.

Eames looks at Arthur in the mirror, staring at each other.

“Hmm…I think I understand the problem. Now, don’t think of changing your eye color like you do your clothes. It’s not like physically taking off a set of clothing or putting new ones on. That’s easy. You can do that by muscle memory.”

“I don’t get it, Eames.”

“Okay, try to think of it like sliding a film over your eyes. Like sliding something over yourself. You’re still there under everything but something is layered on top.”

Arthur just stares a moment at Eames, not doing anything. Eyebrow furrowed.

“Try again, darling.”

Arthur shakes his head but closes his eyes. Then opens them slowly.

They are changed to the color he imagined. Arthur smiles.

Eames in the mirror behind him smiles back.

They go back and forth until the time runs out, Eames forging something, then showing Arthur how to access the same change but in a way that Arthur’s analytical and intricate thoughts can understand.

Eames understands him.

Understands that Arthur always wants to know more about everything: about the entire world of dreamshare, about the people around him, the people they go after, the people that could come after them, about the ones that are considered team, considered family.

That he has buried his interest in forging. Or at least he thought he had. And Arthur, Arthur knows Eames likes to teach. To show off his talents, yes, but also to give back in some way, to give to Arthur some piece of himself. 

They understand each other in a way Arthur has never had with anyone before.

And it isn’t something they have to say to each other.

And that is dangerous.

That could lead to more.

More feelings, more risk.

Danger for Eames. 

But no. That can’t happen.

Arthur was not built for happily ever after.

***

The new job is a rough one so far, research on the mark, a Mr. Frank Smith, almost non-existent.

It is hard to craft a dream level with so little information and the team hasn’t had a lot to do while they wait for the equations running on Arthur’s laptop to retrieve information or for one of Arthur’s connections to get back to him.

It is a bit boring around the warehouse.

Arthur and Eames are napping next to each other on the couch, heads bent toward the other but not touching, just sleeping, not hooked up to the PASIV.

Arthur doesn’t remember how that happened when he wakes up. Doesn’t even remember falling asleep. He checks his totem. Just to make sure.

Eames gets up and goes wherever Eames goes when not working.

Arthur gets up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and pulling his waistcoat back into place. He stands and walks over to his desk and pulls out a mint, popping it into his mouth.

Mal, of course, comes over once Eames is gone.

“That Mr. Eames.”

“What about him?” Arthur asks, wary. This isn’t the first job Mal has brought Eames up when it’s only been the two of them in the room.

“He is quite handsome, yes?”

Arthur turns a light blush color, dimples peeking out for a moment when he can’t help but have a small smile grace his features.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mal.” Arthur says, tersely.

He turns his head away from her, pretending to look at various, worthless research documents on his desk. He knocks over the empty coffee cup from Eames earlier that morning.

“Mon chéri, you should get to have someone –”

“Mallorie,” Arthur sternly interjects. “No. Not everyone gets that.”

“Come now, Arthur. You won’t know unless you try.”

“We’ve talked about this already.”

“Yes, we have, Arthur. You are obviously interested, I do not understand, mon chéri.”

Of course Mal doesn’t understand. Always the romantic. Thinking everyone gets a happy ending. It’s not something he believes in. At least that’s what Arthur tries to tell himself. Arthur doesn’t respond. He shuffles some papers, fiddling with them instead of looking at Mal. It’s easier that way. She’s too perceptive.

“He makes you laugh,” Mal states.

Arthur shuffles some more papers, head bent down, unable to meet Mal’s eyes.

“I know,” Arthur murmurs back.

Mal turns Arthur towards her, resting her hands on Arthur’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

“It is okay to feel, Arthur.”

“I know.”

“Then think about it. For me?”

Arthur nods.

He knows what he feels. And he won’t be doing anything about it.

***

Arthur is trapped in the waking world while Eames and Mal are on the first level with the mark. The day had been going so well, capture of the mark was easy, the plan was as close to flawless as dreamshare allows, and Eames had only made one comment about Arthur’s dour expression before checking out his ass. A satisfactory day so far in Arthur’s estimation.

But somehow, calm and planned out had turned into bullets flying from an unknown assailant, and Arthur might always have a backup plan for his backup plan, but even he didn’t know how much longer he could give Mal and Eames before having to administer the kick. There were only 2 more minutes on the timer anyway.

Arthur was holding off the shooter pretty well in the near dark, one lone lamp far enough away to keep from being picked off immediately but having the main escape route out of commission was going to be a pain. And to leave the mark or not was a question he didn’t want to have to deal with right now. Arthur didn’t even know who the target was but he wasn’t taking any chances with his team.

He finds a new position closer to the window on the side of the building the shooter had last fired. Arthur changes the clip in his gun, it sliding out smoothly and landing in his hand. Then reloads quickly. He’ll wait out the other gunman before he’ll start shooting back again. No need to give away his new position.

The shooter is in the building across from theirs, three stories up if Arthur calculates correctly – and of course he does – probably waiting for them to come out to pick them off. Arthur isn’t going let that happen. 

Arthur keeps the shooter distracted for the next two minutes and waits for Mal and Eames to wake up.

They do, slowly.

Then all at once.

They are up and reaching for weapons.

“Mon chéri?”

“Darling?”

Eames, with his firearm, comes up behind where Arthur is crouching behind a wooden crate, leaning into his space and peeking around him, trying to see the shooter. Like an idiot. Arthur lays a hand flat on his chest, pushing him back.

“We’re good. Extraction point B is still clear. I’ve gathered what I could while holding off the shooter. Get everything else and we can move.”

He rattles off, hand still resting against Eames’ torso. He is not allowing him to get shot on his watch.

“What about the mark?” Eames asks.

“No idea. Leave him? Take him? Mal?” Arthur replies.

“No. We take him with us.”

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? What if he’s the target?” Eames questions.

“Then that’s his problem when he wakes.” Mal responds.

“We get out clean.” Arthur replies.

“Right. And if one of us is the target?” Eames asks.

“Then, we deal with it after we’re done here,” Mal declares. “Eames, keep the mark sedated. I’ll pack up the PASIV and everything else. Arthur you keep your eyes on the shooter, make sure he doesn’t move.”

“How do we know they won’t just be waiting at our secondary extraction point?”

“I cleared it. We’ll be fine.”

“Good job, darling. Always know you’ll protect us.”

“Shut up, Mr. Eames,” Arthur says with a smile in his voice.

They clean up and make a break for it.

Arthur is right, they get away clean.

***

The next job the four of them take is thankfully a quick and easy extraction, no unforeseen problems.

Which, of course, Mal thinks means dinner out as a team.

And the biggest problem is that Arthur isn’t flying out for another day and so has no reason not to join in. Don’t get him wrong, he loves hanging out with Mal and by extension Dom.

But there is of course Eames.

But these late night team dinners have been happening more and more frequently and it’s making the hair on the back of Arthur’s neck stand up.

He can tell when Mal is trying to concoct one of her schemes.

And he won’t be letting it work.

They cleaned the apartment hours ago, got the mark back no problem, and have all changed into Mal approved dinner-wear before heading to the restaurant.

“This place has the best cheeseburgers!” Mal exclaims.

“If you need to wear a jacket just to get in, I don’t think it’s still called a cheeseburger anymore, dear,” Dom remarks. 

“Arthur you’re going to love it, promise.”

Arthur frowns.

“Mal, I don’t eat cheeseburgers. You know that. Dom knows that. Hell, even Eames knows that.”

“I do know that, darling. Your palate is much too delicate for pedestrian food.”

“Shut up, Mr. Eames.” Arthur says, shooting him a full-blown smile with dimples.

Arthur really doesn’t care about the stupid cheeseburger. He doesn’t like them but it won’t kill him to eat one. Probably. It is just a habit, keeping up his professional persona at all times. And Point Man Arthur, does _not_ eat cheeseburgers. Especially not in his third best bespoke suit. 

“Arthur.”

“Mal.”

“Arthur.”

“No, no pouting. Stop it Mal.”

“Please?”

Mal might be Arthur’s best friend, but even her poking and prodding and pouting won’t be getting him to order a cheeseburger of all things.

“What if I get one of the ten, supposedly, gourmet cheeseburgers, didn’t know that was a thing, huh. And Arthur will take a small bite?”

“Would that please the lady?”

“Eames, stop flirting with Mal, please.” Dom asks, long-sufferingly.

Arthur has a very determined facial expression marring his normal serene countenance.

“Fine. Deal?” Mal gives in with a moue.

“A _small_ bite. Deal,” Arthur replies.

“Perfect! Pet, come help me pick one of these monstrosities to gorge myself on.”

Arthur leans into Eames’ space, sliding his way even closer to get a look at where Eames is pointing.

There are multiple pictures with words under them, all some sort of cheeseburger monstrosity that Arthur can’t tell if it is meant for human consumption or to make some chef happy to torture his dinner guests instead. And while in Arthur’s second favorite suit too!

“This one has something called shaved black truffles on it. That sounds like something you’d eat, right Arthur?”

“Yes. If it wasn’t being defaced on a cheeseburger,” Arthur replies between gritted teeth.

Mal is so going to owe him for this.

***

In the end, they order the ‘Around the World’ cheeseburger.

Arthur might also order a scotch before the appetizers to get through the night. And then maybe one more. And maybe just one more before the cheeseburger arrives. The one he promised Mal he’d take a bite of.

Ugh, why did Arthur agree to this again? Why is Mal such a devious little birdy? Why does she always win?

Arthur sulks.

What is Arthur thinking about again? Shit, how much did he drink again?

By the time the food arrives, Arthur’s pan-seared scallops in a lemon-butter sauce and three outlandish cheeseburgers, Arthur is on the right side of tipsy. Not that it matters. Or does it? Would another drink help maybe? There’s still the matter of cheeseburger torture to get through.

Arthur raises a hand to order another drink and Eames intercepts it.

“Think that is enough for now, darling.”

“But - the torture! Eames, the torture!”

“You’ll be fine, darling. Promise. Now, why don’t you lower your voice, all these nice patrons probably want to go back to their meals and not hear about your cheeseburger nightmares.”

Mal laughs, delighting in Arthur’s pain. Why does Arthur like her again? Arthur made a stupid deal. Why did Arthur make a stupid deal? Arthur can’t think about it anymore.

“Fine,” Arthur pouts.

“Aww, pet. It won’t be that bad. I’ll go first.”

Eames uses his knife and fork and cuts into the burger because it’s way too big to take a bite out of on its own. Not that Arthur would’ve let him. Not when they were sharing. Ugh, cheeseburger.

Anyway, it’s not gentlemanly to eat with his hands in such a fine establishment. Even if it is an evil establishment. That serves evil cheeseburgers. And has evil best friends smiling at him from across the table.

Eames moves the small morsel towards his insanely lush lips, slipping the dripping mouthful inside his mouth and delicately chewing.

Arthur stares.

He might be horridly offended by cheeseburgers but seeing Eames eat is just sinful.

Once Eames is done, he licks his lips.

“It’s not bad, pet. Here,” Eames stabs another bite onto his fork and shifts it towards Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur is just tipsy enough to think it’s a good idea to let Eames feed him his bite of the cheeseburger right off of Eames’ fork. Fingers right there. Long and strong and Arthur wants to touch so badly. Just hold his hand. Let their offbeat calluses rub together while their fingers slide together so smoothly.

Arthur lets Eames slide the fork into his mouth, teeth clinking on the silverware when Arthur takes the food into his mouth proper. Eames removes the fork, Arthur letting the cheese and shaved black truffles and oven dried tomato and too many other ingredients for him to count melt on his tongue before chewing and swallowing.

He doesn’t grimace.

That would mean Mal would win. And that isn’t happening. Not after Arthur ate a fancy as fuck cheeseburger for this little game of theirs.

He smiles serenely back at Mal.

“How was it, Arthur?” Cobb. Of course. In on Arthur’s misery.

“It’s very good. Lovely choice of establishment, Mal,” Eames replies before Arthur can open his mouth and say something with vitriol.

Arthur grinds his teeth and rolls his eyes but leaves it.

They go about their dinner in a sedate fashion after that, Arthur maybe a little checked out of the conversation.

Mal and Dom leave about half an hour after dinner, off to wherever they plan to go until the next job. Arthur would know their destination, but Dom likes being a pain and choosing romantic spots for him and Mal to find instead of sticking to a prearranged schedule. 

***

Arthur and Eames stay around the restaurant for a nightcap, nursing their drinks a little slower than they usually would.

The silence between them is nice. Relaxed. 

“Darling, did you know you’re really quite fetching when you’re slightly drunk?”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Arthur laughs like Eames just told the greatest joke imaginable.

Okay, maybe he’s a little more than tipsy now.

Oops.

Eames. Eames. Eames.

That’s all Arthur can think about. Shit. He’s in so much trouble.

He tries not to look.

But Arthur can’t take the temptation that is Eames sprawled in their corner booth, legs spread so wide apart, fingers twirling over his glass, letting the condensation drip, drip, drip onto the tablecloth, other arm over the back of the booth, near Arthur’s shoulder, barely brushing one finger over the shoulder of Arthur’s jacket. 

Then, Eames and his lips wrapped around his martini glass. Eames smiling that little smirky smile at Arthur, looking right into Arthur’s eyes the entire time. 

Arthur wants.

But no. There’s a reason he shouldn’t. Right?

Nothing else happens that night. Eames is a perfect gentleman and makes sure Arthur is ensconced in his room before retreating to his own.

Arthur doesn’t know how he feels about that.

Arthur’s bed is empty. And cold.

Arthur frowns.

Arthur is never letting Mal set up another team dinner for ages.

***

The next time it happens is in another dream. They are two levels down, boxed in a dark, dank alley, no streetlights. Just the minuscule light of the moon shining down on them.

They are taking shelter between a smelly dumpster and a solid steel door. Wasn’t the best of hiding spots and will surely get one of them shot at this rate but it is what they have to work with and Arthur is surprised it has worked this long. Projections are moving towards them, closing in, closer and closer and closer.

Flanking them.

Eames and Arthur are close together, sides brushing, barely shielded by the small dumpster, weapons out and ready. Eames leans close to Arthur, barely whispering in his ear. “Tell me a secret, darling?” hot breath ghosting over the side of Arthur’s face.

Arthur doesn’t take his eyes away from their surroundings, watching out for projections and waiting on a slip in their net to sneak past them.

“I enjoy working with you, Mr. Eames.”

Arthur doesn’t look back but he’s sure Eames is surprised. Arthur is rarely so forthcoming in his praise. Or maybe he’s not surprised at all. Never know with Eames.

“Now, on one. Three, two, one.” Arthur commands.

They both come out firing, moving towards the mouth of the alley, back to back, steps in sync like they’ve done this hundreds of times before.

Because they have.

They make it to the street outside without getting hit, a minor miracle with the way things have been going this job.

They make it to the safe house, waiting for Mal to finish the extraction, to give the all clear so they can get the hell out of this shithole of a dream.

***

Arthur is counting the time and it has been 36 hours, working on research and helping their architect build the dream and cleaning up everyone else’s’ mistakes and catering to their needs.

He’s done.

Why did Mal have to get pregnant again?

Arthur really wants to pinch the bridge of his nose and let some of the tension out but he won’t show weakness, not even in front of a team he mostly trusts enough to go under with.

His jaw fucking hurts.

Arthur walks into the dark alcove, thinking of retiring to his room for pain medicine when he sees Eames in the area, fiddling with a cup of tea. Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose finally, getting some much needed relief. It doesn’t feel like a weakness around Eames.

Nothing ever does.

“Oh, pet. You should really get some rest.”

“Can’t yet, Mr. Eames. I have Montfree’s financials to finish, Cobb wants them by tomorrow, and then Glendale wants me to go under again to ‘fix’ the layout of the dream. Again.”

“Want me to do the forehead thing?”

“Pressure points. But yes, please Eames.”

Eames turns Arthur around, setting his tea on the tiny ledge, then rubbing his hands together to keep them warm.

Eames runs his fingers over Arthur’s temples, putting pressure to his skin and the muscle beneath, rubbing in a circular motion and pressing his two fingers slowly back and forth over the whole area.

Arthur lets out a deep breath, closing his eyes. It feels amazing.

They stay like that for a few minutes.

“You have wonderful fingers, Mr. Eames,” Arthur slips and utters as Eames presses on an especially nice spot and holds there for a few seconds.

“Thank you, pet.” Eames says, quietly.

Eames keeps massaging at Arthur’s temples until he sees Arthur’s shoulders lower and his body become relaxed. He rubs his nose in the few strands that’ve escaped Arthur’s pomade, for just a minute, giving the side of his head a quick kiss.

“Now, go get some sleep, I’ll work on those financials and tell Glendale the maze can wait until tomorrow,” Eames replies softly.

Arthur turns around, looking into Eames’ eyes.

They don’t say anything about the kiss. Or the way Eames touched him.

He nods slightly.

“Goodnight, Mr. Eames.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

Arthur walks away down the hall. Arthur can feel Eames’ eyes track him back to his room.

***

They’re taking a red eye to New York, the team, and Arthur is tired.

The lights in the first class cabin are down low, dark so the passengers can sleep. Arthur wants to sleep so badly. But Eames is sitting right there next to him and watching him is always the best entertainment.

Even when all Arthur wants to do is sleep.

Eames’ is reading a book, not looking up, even though Arthur is staring and has been for the past few minutes.

Finally, he speaks so softly Arthur almost thinks he doesn’t hear anything at all.

“Come here, pet,” he gestures closer to himself. Arthur leans closer. Of course he does.

Eames pulls him in, resting his head against Eames’ shoulder and neck area. “Sleep. You look dead tired, darling.”

“I am.” Arthur slurs out.

Arthur is so tired. So tired.

And Eames is offering.

He can’t seem to say no.

He is relaxing into Eames’ body, letting out a deep breath, and closing his eyes. He can smell Eames’ cologne. He shuffles closer, pressing his face into his neck, trying to get comfortable but also as close as Eames will allow.

He can allow himself to have this.

Have Eames.

If only for a few hours.

***

Eames is dressed in a beautiful evening gown, straight from Arthur’s favorite runway show. He loves that Eames chooses to wear it for this forge.

For him.

And it fits like it was tailored in Arthur’s dreams.

The dream is one level, simple militarization. Mal’s turn to keep watch up top.

No need for Eames to forge really. It just makes the dream a little more fun. Plus they’re getting paid extra for the whole “premium” experience. They’re taking turns with showing the client different aspects of the dream but Arthur isn’t really paying attention to that right now. At least not fully.

Suddenly, the lights go out. In the middle of the dance floor, a spotlight shines. The client is dancing with Cobb. Cobb is not leading.

Arthur is dressed in a tux that he actually owns in the real world, a snug fit over every curve of his body. He hopes Eames is enjoying it as much as he is, flaunting himself tonight for the simple pleasures it affords him.

Arthur leans into Eames’ personal space, laying a hand on the bare skin of his upper back, wanting to touch lower and lower, put his hands all over Eames in that dress. Cup those pert breasts, run his hands up and down the silk gown getting an impression of his shape, the feel Eames’ round ass hugging the material, lean his head into the curve of his neck and smell the honey scent of Eames’ skin.

But Arthur keeps it professional. Mostly.

He leans in close, near enough to get a whiff of Eames’ scent, lips brushing his ear. Breath hot and a tad minty.

“You look hot like that.” Arthur says it like a secret.

Eames eyelashes flutter. “Please, darling, I look hot all the time,” smile tugging the corners of his plush lips.

“Can’t argue with that, Mr. Eames.” Arthur says, slowly taking a step away from Eames’ transformed body.

Eames doesn’t respond, just looks up and down Arthur’s frame with a lascivious smile.

It’s just harmless flirting.

That’s what Arthur tells himself.

***

Arthur likes working in the dark. It’s when he gets his best work done. No distractions. No Cobb droning on and on about how to change this side of the maze or how Eames should try the mistress forge again for the fifth time.

No Eames to observe.

No running his eyes down the lines of his body, taking in the garish clothing but strong build underneath. No slouching and showing off. No wicked smile thrown his way.

Arthur closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in. The night. He left the windows open in the small house they’re working in just to feel that wind on his face, hear the trees whispering in the night, smell the fresh wetness of rain upon grass.

Arthur loves the night. It’s so freeing.

Some people see it as a time for sleep or a darkness that is scary or just unpleasant, wasted time; Arthur sees it as none of those things.

He stretches his arms, work shirt long ago untucked from his pinstriped trousers, shirtsleeves rolled up, shirt showing just a sliver of skin and a tiny trail of hair.

That’s when Eames walks in.

He’s wearing threadbare sweatpants, riding low on his exquisite hipbones, just blatantly displayed, ready for Arthur’s mouth, his tongue, his teeth.

Arthur lets out a long sigh, dropping his arms back to his sides. Well. This is going to be an interesting conversation, Arthur can already tell. Eames is like that in the dark.

It is becoming something of a habit of theirs.

“Darling.”

“Eames.”

Eames slides onto the sofa Arthur is resting on, bare shoulder brushing heat into Arthur’s side when he sits down.

“Research again, Arthur?”

“Actually. No.” Arthur responds softly.

“It’s a novel I’m working on for my publisher. Science fiction.” Arthur shuts his mouth swiftly.

Fuck.

Arthur has no idea why he gave Eames that information. He doesn’t share the fact that he writes fiction with anyone. Not even his own mother knows. Yet, in the quiet darkness, it seems like the right thing to say.

It feels like something _Eames_ ought to know.

They sit in silence. The computer screen the only light in the room. Arthur doesn’t dare look at Eames and see the expression on his face.

“Thank you, Arthur. For telling me.”

Arthur doesn’t know how to respond to that either.

They sit in equable silence.

The night goes on.

***

The morning is different. Feels different.

Like Arthur had just told his biggest secret to the world. Of course, that’s not true. Not his biggest secret and not to the world. Just to the man that feels like his world somedays. It’s ludicrous what Eames does to him.

Arthur recognizes he has it bad for Eames. Knows the easy way they could fall into bed together. Have breakfast in the morning like nothing was wrong.

But it would go wrong. Eames would go on like their relationship never changed.

And Arthur would nurse his endless love until it broke him.

***

Mal’s dead.

Cobb’s on the run.

Arthur follows.

It’s a horrifying time all around.

The kids.

The cops.

Dom running.

They don’t have much in the way of ideas on what to do either. Usually, Arthur always has a plan and a backup plan and another plan after that.

_But no one could’ve planned Mal._

Dead because of dreaming. Or not dreaming. 

Arthur grieves. There was always a reason he never let Mal talk him into a relationship with Eames or anyone else. There is no happily ever after. Not for people like them. 

He gives himself three days to mourn after he hears the news then gets ready.

Dom will be a mess and he doesn’t need to try to figure out how to deal with him on top of accommodations and money and transportation.

Thankfully, Dom gets out of the country with some help and some planning on Arthur’s part and to their safehouse in a non-extradition country.

He’s a wreck.

Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so broken.

Things change after Mal.

***

They are hiding in a small stock room when it happens, a woman with her face covered seems to appear out of nowhere, blade in hand. She stabs Eames before he can even turn around.

They fight at first but make a run for it when they’re both wounded. Fucking dark stock room with nowhere to go but bump into shelves and try to dodge the blade. It doesn’t work.

Arthur doesn’t even have time to shoot her before she’s gone like a wisp of smoke.

Both of them are run through with the distinctive blade, resembling something Arthur has seen before, he just can’t place from where. 

Why did the mark have to be a goddamn chef?

They know exactly how they’re going to die. And it won’t be a pretty, easy death. No bullet to the head this time. No it’s going to be messy and the pain will eat away at them until they wish they could shoot themselves out of the dream.

But pain. Pain is in the mind.

But Dom is still working on the extraction and Arthur at least has to wait out the level until Dom gets the information or for the kick to wake him up.

He turns towards Eames, ready to put his gun to his head and wake him up. Eames gently moves Arthur’s wrist down. “Don’t, pet.”

“Why not?” Arthur asks through gritted teeth.

“I can’t let you stay down here by yourself like that. Here, dream up some bandages and give ‘em here.”

Arthur has a confused look on his face but does as told. Arthur has only once before seen him look so out of control in this way, his hands are shaking, breath coming quick. But that could be from the fight. Arthur doesn’t think so.

Eames starts working on his wound, a grim expression on his face.

Fucking knife wounds. 

They wait out the level for the kick. Arthur isn’t doing very well, the stab wound deep. Eames seems to be doing a little better, Arthur can see his wound is not as deep. His face tells a very different story.

The music finally emanates throughout the level.

They wake.

***

The warehouse is pitch black when they wake up, not even the moon seeping in through the small windows.

Dom takes off as soon as he removes the two injection needles and throws the tubing into the PASIV haphazardly. Arthur is going to have to deal with that. And then yell at Cobb.

But first, Eames.

Eames stands up. Arthur is still sitting.

“Eames?”

“Couldn’t be in the waking world knowing you were suffering down in the dream.”

Eames doesn’t say any more. Just comes over and presses a hard kiss to Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur freezes.

Eames just walks off like it’s nothing.

It’s everything.

***

But then it doesn’t matter.

Dom and Arthur run.

And run. 

And people chase.

Arthur doesn’t see Eames since that job. The one with the lady and her knife. Arthur can’t blame him.

But the kiss, the kiss he can’t forget. No matter how much he wants to some days. 

The money dries up quickly when they have to be one step ahead of the law, find accommodations, transportation, and fake papers.

And then he finds out about Dom’s version of Mal.

He doesn’t let himself cry. He doesn’t. But he doesn’t sleep for five days straight either.

And then new jobs. When every country with a half decent job is a toss-up. Gigs that are shady as fuck and make Arthur want to scrub himself clean afterwards.

To keep Dom together.

To make sure his projection of Mal stops fucking with their dreams.

And to keep the people they fuck over on the way from catching up with them.

From killing them.

It’s not exactly the dream life Arthur has envisioned for himself.

But he can’t let go. 

Then bigger, higher paying jobs. Jobs that end with them in body bags if they don’t come through with the information.

Then the Cobol Engineering job fuck up.

Then splitting up for awhile.

Then Saito happens.

A job that seems too good to be true.

A job that _is_ too good to be true.

Then inception happens.

Limbo. Projections. Zero-gravity.

***

_Then Eames happens._

***

Inception. The most difficult job Arthur is ever going to attempt to do.

Probably.

If it even works.

Even harder than taking care of the blowback from the Newton job. And that was one hell of a contract. Arthur still has nightmare about that job. It’s one of the reasons he sleeps with a firearm next to his bedside and a knife under his pillow.

But none of that matters now, not when they’re trying to perform inception.

Arthur lies down in his seat, cannula hooked up, everyone else ready, and watches Yusuf nod to the flight attendant to push the button.

And they dream.

***

The warehouse is dreary, a perfect place to stage a kidnapping if there ever was one. It’s good work. Ariadne did good work. 

The fucking train he could’ve done without. And the goons with guns. Fucking militarized projections.

There was nothing in the research. Nothing.

Fuck.

Eames coming out of nowhere it seems, holding the gun, ready to shoot Saito out of the dream.

Cobb pushes him against the car. Stops him.

Then Cobb is pushes Arthur around, yelling at him about the research. Arthur gets back in his face, trying to calm him down. 

Then they find out the truth.

They argue with Cobb. Find out about the sedative.

About limbo.

Arthur kind of wants to laugh. But there is nothing funny about the situation. He’s angry that the militarization didn’t show up in the research, he’s angry at Yusuf and at Cobb, always Cobb, and he is the angriest with himself.

He knew, fucking knew Cobb was going off the rails. First, Mal. Then, telling Saito inception was possible was just on the list of many problems Arthur had started to notice but chose to ignore.

Because Cobb was all he had left of Mal.

A shade in someone else’s mind.

Even when she regularly decided shooting Arthur was a good way to get to Dom.

Where did his objectivity disappear to? 

Fucking hell.

Thankfully, there are enough projections that need a bullet to the head that he can take his frustrations out on them and not shoot one of his teammates just to let off some of the tension making Arthur’s muscles tighten. Arthur has always found shooting things to be the best stress relief out there when completely pissed off. 

The damn projections. One goes down and another takes its place. And another. And another. Arthur keeps dreaming up bullets to take them all down but the damn projection to the left of him keeps hiding behind cover and Arthur can’t get a clean shot.

Then Eames comes over.

With a Milkor MGL Mk 1L – a freaking grenade launcher – and Arthur just watches as he takes out the projection.

“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.”

Eames and his stupid quips. And during a job that could end one or more of them for good. Limbo. Limbo. Limbo. It’s sort of the perfect thing to say to get Arthur out of his head.

Eames always knows Arthur’s mind so well lately; it’s scary.

Maybe things are changing between them.

Not that it matters right now. Right now is: push the mark, get the idea planted, go down a level, see if the idea is starting to take root, watch Eames go down another level, keep watch above. Keep the projections away. Be ready to apply the synchronized kick.

Hope nothing else bad happens.

Eames will have to wait. 

Arthur will have to wait.

***

Eames lies down on the carpeted floor, waiting for Arthur to hook him up.

“Security’s gonna run you down hard.” He can’t help saying something to Arthur while the needles slip into his veins.

“And I will lead them on a merry chase.” Arthur replies, so smug.

“Just be back before the kick.”

“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”

Arthur leans in quickly, murmuring in Eames’ ear without anyone else hearing, “Don’t you fucking dare drop into limbo or I’ll come after you.”

There’s a second where Arthur wonders what he’s just done. Telling Eames that. Giving Eames that. But then it’s gone. They have a job to finish.

He waits for Cobb. Waiting for the go ahead. Then presses the injection activation button.

They dream.

***

It is nice having nowhere to go and nothing to do since the job is finished. Arthur is having a great day now that the dangers have passed. The dreams have passed.

Inception.

Somehow they had pulled it off. Even with limbo and projections and a kick they missed.

Arthur checks his totem. Again.

Just to make sure.

It’s unbelievable.

Eames would say Arthur just didn’t have enough imagination to believe it possible. But he’d be wrong. Arthur has imagination. Just maybe not the same type of imagination Eames does.

He walks out of the baggage area, luggage trailing behind him in its little cart, his town car already lined up and a man waiting for him in a cheap suit and a sign with his name on it. Of course, he uses an alias, just in case.

Eames is standing by the baggage area, bags already on a trolley, leisurely resting against it.

Waiting.

Arthur tilts his head very carefully in his direction.

An option. An order. An invitation.

Eames takes it.

***

The heat is balmy, the day sunny, smog lingering in the air of the city. It’s always like this every time Arthur comes home. Well, to one of his homes anyway.

Arthur climbs into the car and Eames follows. The interior is dark, the windows tinted to keep out the blazing sun.

They sit next to each other in an inconspicuous black car, headed to Arthur’s house on the beach. It will be a tedious drive with Los Angeles traffic.

Or maybe not. He is with Eames after all.

Arthur rests his head back against the seat, stretching his neck muscles. They ache after not moving for so long. His back too. First class seats can only do so much on such a long flight.

Eames sits there, staring at him. Smile on his face.

Finally, Arthur can’t take it anymore.

“What?”

Eames leans in to whisper, keeping his words away from the potentially nosy ears of the driver, “You dropped us in zero gravity.”

“Yes, I did. And, Mr. Eames?” Arthur asks, with raised eyebrow.

“Always knew you could dream bigger, darling.”

Arthur hides his smile by looking out the window.

***

The next time the two of them are in the dark together is surprisingly during a film. The mark pushed back his trip and the research and rehearsal is pretty much perfect as any job can get. So Eames invited Arthur to see the newest science fiction film.

Arthur almost said no. But he was out of research and honestly, he wanted to accept. So he did.

The film is intriguing and suspenseful. Arthur is only able to follow along because of his skills at multitasking. He is acutely aware of Eames’ presence next to him. The way his shirtsleeve is brushing Eames’ bared arm. The heat coming off of Eames. The sprinkling of hair just sitting there, tempting Arthur.

Arthur presses his arm closer to Eames, trying to feel more of him. Eames presses right back without turning his head. He shifts his trouser-clad leg closer to Eames, letting their knees barely touch. Eames turns and looks at Arthur this time. He doesn’t say anything, just goes back to watching the film after a few seconds.

Arthur smiles.

They sit like that through most of the film, just pressed together delicately. It’s nice. It’s more than nice.

Right before the end of the film, Eames leans into Arthur over the armrest. An exhalation tickling the hairs on Arthur’s ear, he speaks softly. “Can I tell you a secret, darling?

Arthur looks Eames right in the eyes. He nods.

“I knew you wanted to see this film; I saw the note for it scribbled on the last page of the research you handled yesterday.” Arthur says nothing.

He takes Eames hand in his and they finish watching the film like that, side by side, small smiles on their faces. 

***

They don’t talk about it. What Arthur said on the second level. Warning Eames. About limbo. About any of it.

And Arthur wants to keep it that way. They are getting too close.

He doesn’t need anymore reason to avoid his feelings. 

***

Arthur has just finished checking in when the unexpected happens. Or rather, not that unexpected considering who it is.

“Mr. Eames?” Arthur asks, surprised to see Eames at his hotel. At his hotel and on his vacation.

“Ah, Arthur, there you are, darling.” Eames comes up to him, slinging an arm around Arthur’s shoulders like it’s nothing, other hand holding onto a suitcase. He leans into Arthur, whispering in his ear, “just play along, please pet?”

Arthur gives the slightest nod, barely anything if Eames wasn’t practically plastered to his side.

“Now, about that trip to the zoo. I think we should plan that for tomorrow, head up to the room before dinner, put on some less formal clothing, agreed?”

Arthur has no idea what the hell is going on but that is always how it is with Eames. Arthur starts walking towards the elevators, Eames’ arm now lower, around his waist, dragging their luggage behind them.

Once they’re in the elevator, they keep up the act.

Never know who is watching.

Arthur presses the button to his floor, not bothering to check with Eames. They ride up in silence.

The walk to Arthur’s room seems to take forever. It’s not that long, but he likes a room away from other guests as much as possible, closer to a set of back stairs, just in case of something like this. Or possibly something that’d need a secondary escape plan. He still hasn’t been filled in on the particulars but knowing Eames the foreplanning was a good idea.

Eventually, they reach Arthur’s room. Eames’ hand is still on the small of his back, right above his Glock. Arthur tries hard not to think of how bad things could be if Eames needs a weapon in the waking world.

Eames keeps checking the hallway.

No one is there.

Arthur presses the card to the sensor in the door and waits for the little beep and the green dot before opening it. They walk inside. Arthur shrugs off Eames’ hand, walking further into the dark room, turning on his heel, ready to lay into Eames for finding him and including him in whatever mess Eames has stumbled into this time.

“Eames.”

“Not yet, Arthur. Hold on.” Eames stares out through the peephole for a few minutes before turning back around.

“Go ahead, darling.”

“Okay, what the hell, Eames?” Arthur states, exhausted instead of angry.

“I might have gotten into some trouble…”

“Yeah, I got that part.” Arthur remarks, sarcastically. “And why are you bringing this to me?”

“You’re the best?”

“Is that a question?” Arthur smirks, sprawling his body against the frame of the wardrobe.

“No. You want to hear it? Fine. You’re the best, Arthur.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Eames.” Arthur smiles, proudly.

“Now, tell me, what’ve you gotten yourself into now?”

“Might have liberated a little something from someone that wasn’t using it.”

“Art, _again_ , Eames.”

Arthur shakes his head, unsurprised like always. Eames does have a way of getting himself into jams in the waking world that Arthur, 9 times out of 10, helps him slip away from. Arthur blames it on the stupid thing he feels for Eames, that he is not calling a crush. Or that other word.

“Did you at least leave a forgery this time?”

“Umm…don’t be mad, pet…” That is never a good sign from Eames.

“Eames, out with it.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“It wasn’t art.”

“I’m afraid to ask. Eames, if it wasn’t art…”

Eames bends down and opens his suitcase. Inside is a familiar, shiny, silver case.

“Oh, please tell me you didn’t.”

“It was just sitting there! Asking to be taken!”

“Fucking hell, Eames.” Arthur runs a hand down his face, shaking his head back and forth.

“I’m afraid to ask. Who was it?”

“And the truth, Eames.”

Eames doesn’t say anything.

“Why did you want one anyway? Usually, every team has at least one PASIV between them.”

Silence from Eames.

“You didn’t really want one, did you?” Arthur rants. “Just wanted to steal something. See if you could.” Arthur huffs, turning away from Eames.

“Get out, Mr. Eames.”

“What?”

“I told you to tell me the truth and you haven’t. I don’t believe for a second you’d need me to clean up your mess instead of just returning the PASIV if this all was just for pleasure.”

“I want to start my own team. It’s why I need the PASIV. And I might have stolen it from Foryner Dynamics. They have like 12!”

Silence hangs in the air between them. Arthur is ruminating on what Eames just told him. And on how to get him out of this mess.

“At least it was corporate. That should make things easier, when you _give it back_.”

“But Arthur, darling –”

“Don’t you do that. No, you’re returning it and that’s final. I’ll get you a PASIV if you really want one. But not like this.”

“You’re the best, pet.”

“I know.” Arthur smiles, little dimples showing. So much more relaxed now that he knows all the details.

“But I want something in return.”

“Of course you do, darling. I’d expect nothing less.” Eames replies, the corners of his lips turned up in a small smirk.

“Now, about that cover story, we’ll have to stick with it just in case someone was watching. And until I get in contact with the proper people, you’re not leaving.”

“Of course, whatever you say, Arthur.”

“Also, what was that part about the zoo for?”

“What?” Eames ducks his head, looking away, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Eames.” Arthur asks, firmly.

“So, maybe I like looking at the penguins. In their little tuxes. No need to get all touchy about it.”

Arthur hides his smile by pretending to run his fingers over his lips.

Who needs a vacation anyway?

***

There’s only one room to share.

Figures.

Arthur took the lower paying job because he was bored. Eames probably because he always takes the shadiest jobs he can find. Not that this job is shady. Just a bit underpaid. Not the normal, high-class jobs that Arthur is usually called in for by clients willing to pay premium for the best Point Man in the business.

Just a regular job from a regular man that wants to know if his wife is cheating. Boring. Sedate. Predictable.

Doesn’t really need an extractor. Maybe just a private investigator. But what the client wants, the client shall have.

And here they are, looking at the decent, if lackluster accommodations, two beds separated by a small nightstand. Nothing like what Arthur is used to. But it’s fine. He’ll get used to it. Get used to sharing a small space with Eames.

Smelling Eames’ aftershave after a shower, see the forger half-naked before he sleeps, taking in those small ticks that are so Eames in such an intimate setting.

Yeah, he’ll get used to it.

Somehow.

He hangs his clothes in the closet, placing all his necessities in their proper places. Eames, duffle thrown at his feet, watching him the entire time from his position splayed out on one of the two beds.

Looking way too tempting to Arthur’s eyes. Hands. Mouth.

Not that he’s going to do anything about it. Just no.

That night when they go to sleep, Eames brings Arthur a bottle of water, giving it to him, Arthur setting it on the nightstand. He has no idea how Eames knows he always needs water in the middle of the night.

Eames lies down on his bed, sprawled out in tiny shorts, low on his hips, no shirt to be seen.

Arthur looks away. Pretending to type something important on his phone.

Eames is always too tempting to Arthur. Lying there, so easy to climb into his bed, straddling him and rubbing their bodies together. Taking those little shorts off Eames’ body. And Eames would let him.

He has always made it clear sex was on the table. One time only. No encores. Like everyone Eames propositions. Arthur has heard all the stories. 

But Arthur wouldn’t be able to handle it.

It wouldn’t mean anything to Eames.

And Arthur will keep reminding himself of that.

No matter how much he wants it to mean something more.

***

Arthur knows they are teasing each other.

The coffee deliveries. The flirting. The coy smiles that always end in the best banter.

Yet he can’t help but enjoy it.

While pretending to stretch his legs or check on the others, Eames will walk around the warehouse, passing by Arthur’s workspace and he’ll do this thing with his fingers that gets to Arthur every time.

With his fingers, he will run them over the back of Arthur’s chair, just barely grazing the neckline of his shirt and the small sliver of skin that shows between his shirt collar and the hair at the nape of his neck.

He does this once an hour at least. Every day. Every job.

Arthur tries not to look forward to it. Tries not to lean into the touch.

But he always holds his breath, waiting for the touch. Waiting to see if Eames will go any further. Do anything differently.

Arthur is not disappointed when nothing different happens.

Of course he’s not.

***

And Arthur. He goes to check up on Eames a few times a day too. Like every good Point Man does. Just a general assessment of how things are going and what, if anything, Arthur can do to make Eames’ part of the job run smoother. Just professional courtesy.

Nothing more. 

But he doesn’t need to lean over Eames’ shoulder quite so far, getting right into his personal space. Doesn’t need to stay and ask detailed questions he already knows the answers to while leaning his hip against the desk Eames works at. Doesn’t need to touch.

Just quick brushes of his fingers over Eames’ forearm, or arm reaching for something and pressing on Eames’ body, or a foot touching another through thick leather.

A touch here. A graze there. Nothing special.

Except for how it’s theirs.

And it means a lot more than either of them will say.

***

Arthur is the best Point Man in the business. Arthur is the best dressed out of his colleagues. Arthur is the best at making sure the real world doesn’t catch up to him.

Arthur is not the best this time.

Seems a mark from three years ago held a grudge about an extraction that wasn’t even that important in Arthur’s mind. Some low level corporate flunky that only had access because she was fucking the boss’ wife.

And now hired someone to take Arthur out.

Thankfully, Eames heard of the contract and came to warn him but still it was too fucking close.

And now Arthur has a nice bullet wound to go with his fucked up night. In his third favorite waistcoat.

Someone is going to pay.

Blood is seeping slowly from the gunshot wound, Arthur’s fingers holding the makeshift bandage in place.

Eames is driving him to the nearest hospital, thankfully in Chicago, where bullet wounds aren’t that uncommon. They can just make up a plausible story about getting mugged or something. Arthur is definitely dressed for it.

They’ll still have to deal with the local police but Arthur would much rather go to an actual emergency room than a shady backroom in someplace selling kabobs out front. That was an experience only Eames would think was a great story later on.

Idiot.

They’re sitting in the dark car, damn Chicago traffic busy at this time of night for some unfathomable reason. Probably another popstar concert. Not that Arthur would know anything about that.

Eames keeps glancing over to Arthur every few seconds.

“Just watch the road, Eames.”

“That was too close, Arthur. Too fucking close.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I have the bloody hole to prove it.”

‘Don’t do that. Don’t pretend this is okay.”

“Eames. It’s part of the job.”

“Maybe.” Eames replies.

Silence.

“Maybe you should get out.” Eames says, softly. Like he can barely let the words pass his lips.

“Fuck you. I’m not just going to let some stupid fucker take away what I love because of one damn gunshot wound.”

“Fine.” Eames grinds his teeth.

Arthur just stares at him. Wondering what the hell is wrong with Eames. Telling him to give up dreamsharing. It makes no sense. Even if Arthur had always imagined himself on the more legal side of dreamsharing, asking him to give it up, Eames would know what that means. 

It’s another 20 minutes in traffic.

Eames is unnaturally quiet.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

Arthur almost can’t hear him.

He doesn’t say anything in response. He doesn’t have the words anyway. 

They arrive at the emergency room. The conversation effectively over.

Eames grabs Arthur’s head towards him quickly but gently, pressing a harsh kiss on his lips then turns back to looking out the windshield, eyes squeezed closed. Holding himself very still. Arthur can’t think about that right now. 

Now the questions will come.

Arthur closes his eyes, getting into the headspace of his character, a mugging victim, for the police and nurses and doctors. He looks over at Eames and Eames is sitting there, shocked expression on his face.

It’s a good act.

Arthur doesn’t think it’s an act.

***

They are on a jet, the air recycled like on every plane Arthur has ever been on, the seats soft as a pillow, being seated next to Eames, a distraction. A charming distraction.

It has been 67 days and 21 minutes since Arthur last saw Eames. Not that Eames needs to know that fact.

They’re flying private and there are plenty of other seats Eames could have chosen, but he decided on the one next to Arthur.

Arthur tries not to read anything into it. Eames is just being Eames with his little idiosyncrasies. Or maybe he really is trying to drive Arthur crazy with his too familiar presence.

He tries not to read into the last time they were together and Eames kissed him.

It was probably just the adrenaline.

That’s what Arthur tells himself. Because anything else would mean Eames wants that one night.

And Arthur just can’t give him that.

They’re on the way to their next extraction, a corporate gig that Arthur could do in his sleep. One level, Eames as forger and extractor, Arthur doing research and administering the normal Somnacin dosage. The architect meeting them at the preparation site.

It’s an easy job and Arthur is planning on a nice vacation when it’s all over. Maybe a trip to Santorini. He hasn’t been in ages and it’s nice to revisit old haunts. 

The beautiful sun sets while Arthur stares out the window.

Soon, it will be dark.

Soon, something will happen between them again. He just knows it. 

***

Arthur tries to sleep during the beginning of the flight but can’t help but want to stay awake, to wait for Eames to say something.

Or maybe it’s Arthur’s turn.

Either way, he needs to stay awake. To wait.

Eames has a book open in his lap, something on neurotransmitters, not exactly light reading by Arthur’s standards. But Eames can be like that. A mystery inside an enigma inside of a paradox. 

It might be one of the reasons Arthur is so fascinated with him.

This man that lies and spies and forges yet remembers his birthday and his favorite coffee order.

He tries for Arthur. And that means more than he can ever find the words to say.

***

It is two hours into the flight before something happens.

Arthur is tired of waiting and Eames is just right there, sitting beside him, eyes closed, lounging so carelessly in his seat, book tucked away. It’s driving Arthur crazy not moving into his space, to straddle his legs, get in his lap, to kiss those lips that star in Arthur’s fantasies. He wants to wreck Eames’ garish clothing, tear the offending shirt in two, rend everything that gets in the way of his fingers on Eames tattooed skin. He wants to feel the heat from his body, bite into his plush bottom lip, tempt his tongue into Arthur’s mouth.

But Arthur doesn’t know what to say.

Usually, there are bullets flying past or overworked nights or some other pretense that makes talking, telling, sharing easier.

Here, there is nothing but the quiet spaces in between them.

Arthur finally gets up the courage to speak.

“Eames?”

It takes a few seconds but Eames opens his eyes and looks right into Arthur’s eyes.

“Yes, Arthur?”

And now Arthur is at a loss.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, turning his head to look out the dark window.

“Darling?”

It’s serious when Eames starts using the pet names in that tone.

“It’s nothing just –”

Arthur can’t get the words past his lips. Doesn’t even know what the words are.

_I miss you._

_All the time we are apart makes me ache._

_All I want is you next to me._

_I want you._

But no, Arthur can’t say any of that.

Not yet.

Maybe never.

“It’s nothing. It can wait.” Arthur finally responds.

Eames says nothing.

Arthur rests his seat back, tipping his head onto the cushion and closing his eyes.

Eames watches him. Arthur can feel his observations.

So softly, right before Arthur falls asleep he thinks he hears Eames whisper, “Sweet dreams, darling. I missed you, too.”

But that can’t be right. It’s just in Arthur’s mind, what he wants to hear most.

So Arthur sleeps.

And dreams naturally.

***

This time it’s not an extraction or militarization or any other type of job.

It is a much needed vacation.

Arthur takes his trip to Santorini, making a few stops here and there before his final destination.

For some reason, he asks Eames to accompany him.

Eames agrees.

Arthur full well knows the reason he invited Eames. He’s just going to ignore it.

They take another private plane, this time a short hop from the job they just finished to the first destination on Arthur’s list.

Monaco. Monte Carlo.

And if Arthur picks it because he knows Eames will have a fantastic time…well that doesn’t mean anything.

Arthur books a two floor diamond suite with terraces, a private pool, and sea views for four days for the two of them. Two bedrooms and valet service and all the accoutrements money can buy.

He takes his vacations seriously.

Plus it’s not like Arthur is even going to see a dent in his bank accounts from one or 20 lavish trips. Work has been steady and lucrative and Arthur knows how to invest in the best properties and ideas.

The expression on Eames’ face when he sees the suite makes Arthur smile, happy that he shelled out for the very best.

Eames explores while Arthur is given a bottle of water by the bellhop and follows, watching him set his luggage in the first room. He dismisses him, giving a hefty tip and closing the door behind him.

“You definitely know how to treat a bloke, darling.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything back. Let Eames think whatever he wants.

So what if Arthur is showing off a little bit? No one needs to know that.

***

The first day, they sightsee. Arthur goes into tourist mode like a good Point Man following a plan. Eames follows.

The Prince’s Palace of Monaco, where they can see a beautiful view of the whole city. He takes a lot of pictures, mostly of Eames or selfies of the two of them, less of just the view.

Then, they stroll around the city taking in the sights, stopping at places here and there that catch their fancy. A museum, a park, the beach.

They stop at a lovely little café and have espressos and decadent pastries that are flaky and sticky in all the right ways.

They take gelato to go while they walk, Arthur a classic stracciatella, while Eames is a little more adventurous with his choice of a scoop of earl grey and a scoop of ginger.

They walk along the streets of Monte Carlo, taking in the sights and smells, the beautiful architecture and sweeping views of the sea.

“C’mon now Arthur, try some of this. Promise it tastes amazing,” Eames coaxes, waving the little spoon with the ginger gelato in Arthur’s face. Arthur gives in, leaning into Eames, and swiping his tongue over the little spoon, sweeping the gelato into his mouth, finding the courage to keep eye contact with Eames the entire time. Arthur swallows.

“Hmm, you’re right. It is delicious. Thank you, Mr. Eames.”

Arthur can feel a blush coming on so he turns, walking away, but turning back to wait for Eames to catch up.

Arthur can barely handle how couple-y it all feels. But in such an amazing way.

It’s almost everything he has dreamed of, if he dreamed of a life with Eames.

Which of course he doesn’t.

***

The next day, they sleep in, then indulge in the various amenities the hotel has to offer. Eames cajoles until Arthur agrees to the in room couples massages. Eames smiles and doesn’t make a joke when Arthur finally acquiesces.

The massage is exactly what Arthur needs. It makes his body feel light and liquid, a sensation he hasn’t experienced in way too long. He is rarely able to let the persona of perfect Point Man go, and even when he can, he can barely trust someone enough to get that close to his personal space.

But he ran a background check on the entire staff and an extra detailed one on their masseuses and knows all the exits by heart. And having Eames there to keep watch also helps Arthur relax into the massage. He’s glad he gave in to Eames’ wishes.

After the massages, Arthur decides to relax on the couch by the pool with a book, keeping out of the sun by the shaded area. Eames, Eames decides that it’s a perfect time to take a swim.

Arthur will never know how Eames isn’t half asleep from the massage. Arthur could melt into a puddle on the couch he’s lying on and take a little nap no problem.

Eames enjoys the outdoor pool on the first terrace, swimming back and forth like he was made for the water. 

Eames is wearing the skimpiest little swim trunks Arthur has ever seen. Arthur enjoys it immensely. Not that anyone needs to know that. Especially not Eames.

But he can’t take his eyes away from the curve of Eames’ ass, the way the material hugs all the curves and bulges, obviously made to show off. He would expect nothing less of Eames.

Eames is beautiful like this, a sight that Arthur can’t help but covet. All the places Arthur wants to touch, his shoulders, the strength in his arms, the wonderful way water is dripping down his chest. Down, down, down his stomach, over his tiny bathing suit, down his muscled thighs and all the way down to his bare feet. It’s obscene. That doesn’t mean Arthur isn’t itching to do all of it right this minute.

Arthur looks away, pretending that he was not watching the water trickle down Eames’ body. Because that would be a tease he couldn’t handle. He goes back to his book.

But really, he’s still watching out of his peripheral vision as Eames swims back and forth, sometimes floating on his back, eyes closed to the sun. It’s such a relaxing scene. An intimate and personal vision to be watching. 

Arthur keeps watching but pretending to read.

The massage was worth it and the heat makes Arthur feel even better. Sleepy, but better than he has in ages. Arthur ends up falling asleep on the couch, book lazily discarded to one side, his head falling to rest against the back of the cushion.

It’s nearing the end of the afternoon when Eames wakes him up, the feeling of fingers running through his hair makes him lean into the touch. It’s nice. He hasn’t had someone play with his hair in he can’t even remember how long. He wakes slowly, muzzy from such a short, heat-filled nap.

***

In the evening, Eames wants to go gambling. So they visit the Casino de Monte Carlo. Arthur should have known the entire thing is a bad idea. And for once he doesn’t mean Eames and the gambling.

They leave in the late afternoon, both getting dressed up, as per the explicit rules.

Arthur picks a striking bespoke three-piece suit in a dark purple, almost black color, unlike anything he usually wears. Eames goes for a modern cut, in a classic black.

He looks stunning. Arthur wants so badly to peel Eames out of the suit, not even caring if he destroys the damn thing, the craving almost too much to handle. He wants to put his hands on the lapels, pull Eames into him, and kiss him until he can think of nothing but Arthur.

But that can’t happen.

He turns away, pretending to check his pocket square in the mirror. He has no idea how he’s going to get through the night.

Eames is going to be peeling the women and men off him tonight. And Arthur is going to have to watch. What if he decides to bring one of them back with him?

Arthur can’t think about that. He won’t be jealous. He can’t be when Eames isn’t his to be jealous over.

And he never will be.

By the time they get inside the casino, the sun has set. But inside the lights are bright, everything lit up so the gamblers can stay awake and keep playing until the early hours.

Arthur heads straight to the bar, ordering his favorite drink and pretending he hasn’t already seen a woman in a slinky dress come up to Eames and begin chatting him up.

Arthur swiftly turns away.

He walks around the casino taking in the table games and watching here and there when it strikes his fancy. It’s a nice casino, but Arthur has never been a man consumed with pushing his luck. 

He walks around but ends up by Eames side.

Like always.

Eames is having a little too much fun at the roulette table. He stays to watch Eames play a few hands, winning both and smiling back at Arthur both times.

Arthur stays at the table for awhile, watching Eames bet on random numbers, sometimes one, sometimes more than one number at a time. 

“Arthur, darling, blow on this chip for me, please?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Wrong game, Mr. Eames.”

“Please, Arthur?” Eames makes a stupid pleading face.

Arthur can’t resist. He blows on the damn chip.

“Thank you, darling.”

“Chips and dice are nothing alike,” Arthur says. 

“You wound me, pet.”

“You’ll get over it,” Arthur can’t help but grin.

Eames turns towards Arthur, giving him a shining smile.

“You’re too good to me, darling.” 

“I know.”

Eames goes back to his game, giving Arthur a furtive glance that Arthur catches. He doesn’t know what it means.

Arthur stays next to Eames for most of the night, watching him dazzle in his suit, but then feels like a walk once the table gets crowded. He strolls around, looking at the ostentatious décor and sipping from a second glass of scotch.

Eames doesn’t bring anyone back to the suite that night.

Arthur can’t help but be relieved.

He doesn’t think he could deal watching Eames with someone else.

No matter how selfish that thought is.

***

Their last night, they sit out on the higher terrace, watching the sunset and the city begin to sparkle.

The cool night breeze brings with it the salty taste of the sea. It’s beautiful outside. They sit on the balcony of their suite, Arthur sipping a scotch with a sphere of ice, Eames drinking something floofy, some sort of pink concoction with cherry foam on top. But he seems to be enjoying it and Arthur isn’t going to say anything.

He can’t seem to stop watching Eames’ lips while he drinks it. Thinking about the taste of them, the sweet, sticky, cherry flavor coating his tongue.

How it would taste on Arthur’s tongue, the sweetness coating his mouth in cherry and Eames.

They watch the sunset over the shimmering blue waters, talking softly to each other because that’s the way the atmosphere demands.

Arthur lets stray pieces of hair escape, taking off his tie, and removing his jacket. His sock clad feet are up on the low coffee table.

The moon soon comes out to play, dancing merrily around the night sky, its brilliance shinning down on them and enveloping them in a space between spaces.

They sit there until the early morning, sipping drinks, they both turn to water after a short time, and telling each other anything and everything.

Eames tells stories about jobs Arthur wasn’t a part of, wild, crazy stories that might be true or not but are entertaining nonetheless. Arthur returns the favor, telling tales of working on the legal side of dreamshare, about jobs before Cobb, before he’d met Eames.

Then, they work through to the jobs they were both on, talking about their parts, the bits and pieces the other doesn’t know about. Reminiscing about the good times, the times when Cobb was just an architect, when Mal was alive. They talk and it doesn’t grow somber. It’s a night of secrets, a spell cast, keeping all the bad feelings away.

“Can I kiss you, Arthur?”

“Yes.”

Arthur and Eames seem to lean in at the same time, heads tilted just enough, lips bare centimeters apart, breathing each other’s air. That suspended moment that’s charged with everything between them. But also a softness, a gentleness that exists in that sliver of an instant.

And Arthur freezes. He doesn’t think he can do it. Can’t be brave enough to close the distance between them.

And Arthur thanks every star in the sky that Eames does it for him.

And then they are kissing. Not a gentle kiss. Not a kiss full of demands or filled with shock.

No, a kiss filled with fire. With need, repressed. 

Arthur gives and gives and gives, letting Eames direct the kiss. Then, a moment later, he takes over. Lets the passion between them flare bright.

Arthur can’t stop kissing Eames. Light, barely there kisses, then searing, rough kisses that leave his lips feeling swollen and well used.

Arthur is tucked into Eames’ side, letting no space come between them. It’s so very nice. Arthur could live like this every day for the rest of his life.

“You make me feel safe, darling,” Eames whispers.

It’s sharp, the pain that comes from Eames being so honest with Arthur. Pain and joy connected by all the things they say to one another.

That night they don’t have sex.

That night they fall asleep cuddled up next to each other out on the terrace, drinks abandoned for the safety of each other’s arms.

It’s a fantasy that Arthur never thought he’d get to experience. But he can’t have this. No matter how much he wants it. But he will take what he can get while he can. Before Eames comes to the realization Arthur wants more than one night. That he wants all the nights and all the mornings and all the times in between.

This is a night he will remember forever.

No matter the troubles that will come with morning. The stilted goodbyes. The soft press of lips like the best promise that will never come true.

Eames is part of the problem. Always there, always so open to Arthur. Always giving and taking and being so very Eames about the whole thing.

And Arthur knows he is the other half of the problem. Always sharing more than is required. Always trying to find out more about Eames. Teasing. Flirting. Being coy.

But he can’t help it.

His stupid heart won’t let him.

***

It’s been a hellish day, coordinating for a client for a job that after 24 hours of going back and forth, seems not to be happening after all. At least not just yet. Arthur thinks he knows people, and the client will change her mind eventually.

Arthur is still billing the client for his time.

He’s exhausted, staying up to talk to the client and the potential team members, including Eames, out of three different time zones.

He just wants a long, hot bath, a scotch, and to be able to sleep for the next 10 hours without some problem arising. And without thinking about Eames every other minute.

Arthur gets none of that. Or well, he grabs the halfway decent mini-bar scotch on the way out of his hotel room but he doesn’t think that counts.

***

Turns out the client from a few weeks ago is ready to commit now. Arthur knew she’d change her mind eventually, but why did it have to be in the middle of Arthur’s downtime?

He is moving into his newly bought villa in three days and even though Arthur has already picked out the furniture and most of the decor, it would be nice to actually get to spend some time there before his next job.

Maybe he’ll call up one of his contacts and see about one of them taking over.

Arthur could use the time off. He has been running from job to job to job for the past three months and all of it has been exhausting. New hotels, long flights, new clients he has to deal with, sometimes co-worker spats that Arthur has to resolve. Not exactly the most relaxing contracts in dreamsharing. 

Then, Arthur changes his mind.

The client asked for the best. And the best is Arthur.

And not that it matters or anything, but Eames was supposed to be on the original team.

Nope, doesn’t matter at all. At least that’s what Arthur tells himself.

He knows he’s lying.

Eames doesn’t take the job.

Arthur is not relieved.

***

Arthur takes the job because the client was a friend of a friend of a friend. And he is bored. It’s a corporate gig, some accountant that might be cooking the books. It’s a job. One Arthur is going to do well because he is the best in the business. Even if corporate gigs kind of don’t compare to being on the run with Cobb, trying to outrun whomever they fucked over that week or performing inception on a billionaire.

Ari is working this job and he’s happy about that. Hasn’t see her in a few months. They keep in touch mostly by video calls and random texts but it’s not the same as being face to face and being able to hug her in person.

Arthur almost feels like retiring. It’s a disturbing thought to have.

But every job is getting less and less interesting. And anything that does sounds halfway fascinating ends up being a vast disappointment. He could go corporate. Do militarizations for bigwigs that think they might be the target of extraction. It’ll be dull but lucrative work and it’ll keep him on the mostly legal side of dreamshare. Where he’d always meant to stay.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do after this extraction.

It’s a scary thought.

And then Eames shows up.

He wasn’t supposed to work this job. There was no need of a forger at all. It’s one of the first things he checked before taking the job.

But because their extractor has an emergency, Eames comes to fulfil that role. And Arthur will say a lot of things about Eames, but he’s one hell of an extractor.

He needs a little space from Eames though.

Even though everything in him wants the opposite.

They’re getting too close. Too intimate. The kissing, the cuddling, the revealing bits of themselves in the middle of their nights together. Sharing too much of themselves. Their real selves.

Arthur knows he can’t protect himself if the thing he desires most is right there every day, just leaning there, body language so open, so inviting. But no, Arthur can’t.

He can’t keep doing this to himself. Not after what happened last time. He needs to remember that. 

Some truths aren’t meant to be spoken. Or acted upon.

Not if it breaks his heart to pieces.

***

The first day is fine, nothing interesting happens. Arthur stays away from Eames as much as possible but still feels himself drift into Eames’ space often over the course of the day.

Eames acts normally. Bringing him coffee like usual. Flirting but in their normal way. Like how everyone expects them to act. 

Like nothing is different between them. Like nothing is dramatically altered after everything. 

And maybe nothing is different for Eames.

Maybe this is what Arthur was afraid of all along.

***

It’s late when Eames comes to him.

Of course it is.

It’s always nighttime when these conversations happen. Easier to say the things afraid of being said in the light.

The rest of the team is gone. It’s just them.

“Can we talk?” Eames asks quietly. Not even looking up at Arthur.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Eames.”

“Arthur.”

It sounds like ‘please’ to Arthur’s ears. He can never deny Eames.

“Fine. Not here.”

“Thank you.”

They shut down everything that’s needed, Eames packing up the PASIV, handing the silver case to Arthur on the way out of the space.

Arthur turns in the opposite direction of their hotel and starts walking.

They don’t speak. 

After about 20 minutes, they come upon a bridge. Arthur stops. He sets down the PASIV, bag still slung over one shoulder. He does not turn towards Eames.

They look out at nothing in particular but the still waters.

Eames stands stiffly next to Arthur.

They stay still in silence.

The fading light spreading from the streetlamps spilling its shine across the cobblestones.

Normally, this would be where they talk. In the dark. Away from prying eyes and ears and light, to reveal the most secreted away truths. The things locked deep within their mind vaults.

But for some reason Eames isn’t saying anything.

And Arthur can’t.

Frozen. Unable to let words pass his lips.

“Arthur. Look at me.”

Arthur does.

Eames still does not speak.

Arthur watches in silence as Eames gathers his words behind his eyes.

Arthur closes his eyes, then speaks.

“You wanted to talk. So talk,” he says in the softest voice.

Eames takes a deep breath, turning until he can look into Arthur’s eyes. 

“I want –”

Eames stops.

He turns away. Hand ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

“You make me so –”

Instead of finishing his sentence, Eames puts a hand up to Arthur’s cheek, cupping his face. He pulls Arthur barely in towards him.

Arthur pulls away from Eames.

“I can’t.”

And Arthur walks away.

***

The job finishes and Arthur doesn’t have to see Eames every day anymore.

No matter how much his heart yearns to be there by his side.

It’s getting terrifying how invested Arthur has become in needing someone else.

But that can’t happen.

Arthur is meant to be alone.

It’s safer that way.

***

It’s just Arthur and Eames, sitting in the loft Arthur has rented for this job. It’s nice, spacious. Lots of ways not to run into Eames.

If they didn’t need a forger and extractor for this job, Eames would not be here. Arthur’s emotions are still too close to the surface for his liking and being around Eames just exacerbates it.

But of course that doesn’t happen. Eames is always there, getting into Arthur’s personal space. Leaving the pre-arranged coffee. Giving him attention when normally at this point in the job Eames is off in his own little world made up of marks and forges and dreaming.

They go under together at sunset to set up the second level of the dream and so Eames can practice his forge. Nothing abnormal.

Except something is weird with Eames’ projections again.

Just in a completely unexpected way.

Arthur stays away from them for the most part, letting himself hide until the time runs out or taking the projections out from with his sniper rifle.

It takes awhile but they finally wake.

Arthur rips the needles out of his skin, which he’ll pay for later, pinpricks of blood already making a stain on his cuff, but he’s so very frustrated.

“What the fuck, Eames?”

“I’m sorry, darling, what’s the problem?”

“YOU! Your projections!”

“What happened? The dream was intact until the time ran out.”

“Every one of your projections stopped to give me a hug.”

“I – I must be coming down with something. Sorry, darling.”

Eames looks abashed. And his ears are turning a fetching red.

“That’s not normal, Eames!”

Arthur huffs, rolling up the PASIV lines and making a note to clean everything later tonight. He closes the PASIV and picks up his bag, ready to surrpetitially retire to his room before Eames notices.

“You can’t keep running away, Arthur!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Arthur, stop being a stubborn prick and talk to me.”

“About what? If you have questions about the job, I’ll happily answer them tomorrow. During working hours. I’m done for the day.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Stop playing ignorant, Arthur.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about this. About us.”

“What ‘us’, Eames? There is no ‘us’.”

Eames looks shocked and hurt.

“Arthur, darling –”

“I don’t know why you’d think there is. So you kiss me sometimes and then you pretend it never happened.”

“Is that really what you think, darling?”

“Don’t call me that! We never talk about the kisses. About anything else.”

“You never said anything either.”

“You’re the one that kept kissing me!”

“And you’re the one that kissed me back!”

“Of course I kissed you back!”

“But they were just kisses because of adrenaline or being in close quarters or something, right? They didn’t mean anything.”

“They meant everything, Arthur. You have to know that. When I kiss you, it always means something.”

“Well, I don’t know that! I don’t know anything about what’s happening!”

Arthur throws down his bag, sets the PASIV down and strides around the room, not looking at Eames.

“What’s happening, Eames?”

Arthur runs his fingers into his hair, sticking it up everywhere, pulling a little bit at the strands.

“We’re together. Happily, I thought.”

“I’m not made for happily ever after, Eames!”

Eames is silent. Waiting for Arthur to continue.

He doesn’t.

“Darling, what do you mean by that?”

“There’s just some people in the world that it doesn’t happen for, okay? I’m one of those people.”

“Why would you think that, pet?”

“The last real relationship I had. It didn’t end well Eames.”

“So what? We all have relationships that end badly.”

“Maybe. But mine ended in a bullet.”

Eames stays very still. His spine straight.

Arthur knew this was a bad idea. Telling Eames anything about his past relationship.

“I feel hard. He wasn’t a part of dreamshare. Didn’t know what I did for a living. They took him.”

“I got distracted. And he paid for it.”

“Arthur, if you’re afraid it’s okay. We will figure something out.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“No, of course not, my mistake. The Arthur can’t be afraid of anything.”

“Fuck you, Eames!”

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

Eames looks at Arthur, really looks at his body language and Arthur watches as he can’t help but move over to him. But he doesn’t touch.

“I couldn’t bare it. Not with you,” Arthur says it like he’s terrified.

“And anyway all this it was just harmless flirting, like it always is. Right Eames? You do it with everyone.”

“Do I really, darling?”

“Yes - ah - well, I mean –”

“I don’t, pet. Not the same way as I do with you. You’re special.”

Arthur blushes, eyes starting to crinkle at the corners.

“You’ve always been special.”

“Shut up, Mr. Eames,” Arthur can’t help but smile, dimples appearing and everything.

“Then what are we even fighting about?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you want this Arthur?”

“Want what exactly?”

“Me.”

“Eames, it’s not that easy.”

“Of course, it is, darling.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m yours already.”

Fuck. What is he doing? That he would throw all his rules away and let someone else dictate terms. That’s not him. 

He’s held out for years, this night, this gentle side of Eames, it doesn’t make any sense that this is what would have him give in.

“Whatever you want.”

“I can’t, Eames.”

“We can take care of each other. Make sure nothing happens to either of us if possible.”

Heartbreak blooms on Eames’ face.

“Why not, pet? You want me too. I know you do.”

“I do. More than anything,” Arthur whispers.

“Then, how about a real date? Just one. Promise I can change your mind. That we can work, darling.” 

It’s like Eames can read his mind. The way Arthur really wants to try a relationship. Or hell a date. Anything Eames would give him.

Arthur was emotionally compromised.

Arthur isn’t going to give in.

He can’t.

But he does.

***

They’re at a downtown nightclub, one of those hip places with celebrities every five feet, music blaring the hot DJ of the moment, the smell of sweat permeating the air, the jumping up and down of slick bodies dancing in the center of the floor.

It’s all a bit much. Not the kind of place Arthur would plan for a date.

But it’s Eames’ kind of place when he wants a break. And Arthur can’t help but indulge his wishes.

They both head to the bar first thing, procuring overpriced drinks, before standing near the edge of the crowd of bodies, all lost in their own little worlds. Arthur can kind of see the appeal of it all. It makes sense a forger would enjoy this mishmash of people, the gentleman smoking weed in a corner booth, the actress in a skintight dress dancing up near the DJ’s platform, the old guy with hot, young women crowding around him in the dark sitting area near the back of the club, drinking their woes away.

They have two more drinks each and a shot of tequila before Eames convinces Arthur to journey to the dance floor with him.

And Arthur lets go.

Eames looks shocked for just a moment when Arthur starts dancing with him, front to back, all pressed together, Arthur’s jean-clad ass rubbing, creating friction, and no space between them. But he regains his equilibrium quickly, arms coming around Arthur’s waist, hands on his trim stomach, running his thumbs down, down, down, tracing his hipbones, sneaking in under his T-shirt downward to the bit of skin between his shirt and low-riding jeans.

Fuck. Arthur could get used to this. Having Eames pressed all over him. Feeling him react to the way their bodies are pressed together.

Just a moment of what Arthur really wants.

They dance for hours it seems before it becomes too much and they have to leave. The sexual tension heavy in the air around them.

They go outside, dodging the paparazzi by going out a side entrance, not that it’d matter, they are nobody in this world and that’s how Arthur likes it.

They walk a few steps before Eames stops Arthur with a hand on his arm. He turns towards Eames, wondering what’s wrong.

Eames steps closer. And closer. Right into Arthur’s personal space. A hand rests on the side of his head, running through the wisps of pomade-free curls until they cup his jaw.

Eames kisses Arthur.

It’s not a gentle, loving kiss. It is harsh. It is demanding. It takes up all the air in his lungs. It is beautiful in its own right.

It is everything and nothing like Arthur has dreamed about when he lets himself dream.

It is a kiss away from prying eyes. Away from the team. Away from the lights and music and the rhythm of people dancing.

It’s a kiss for their new beginning.

On a night for their new beginning.

***

They stumble through the door of Eames’ penthouse, tearing at each other’s clothing. Arthur doesn’t even care that Eames is probably ruining one of his best T-shirts. Arthur feels no compunction whatsoever for ripping apart Eames horrid shirt, little buttons scattering along the marble flooring, collar partially ripped from the body of the shirt. Shirt tossed meaninglessly aside.

Arthur smiles, wickedly.

They both toe off their shoes and socks while staggering towards the bedroom.

Arthur works on his belt next. Why does Eames have to wear a damn belt anyway? His ugly, ill-fitting trousers don’t need a belt to clash with them.

Fuck. Arthur is going off track. He can’t think. Can’t deal with finally being able to get his hands all over Eames’ body. What the fuck is wrong with him?

_He is never this out of control._

He gets the fucking belt off, button open, zipper down. Then his hands are taken by the wrists, held firm.

“Slow down, pet.” Eames says, softly.

He can’t. Arthur wants so badly to run his hands up and down Eames’ chest, his tattoos, get his hands in his pants, finally feel the heft of his cock in his hand.

Put all of his singular focus on Eames.

He tries to pull his wrists out of Eames' grip. Eames holds firm.

“Arthur. Look at me.”

Arthur does.

“Not like that, okay?”

He wants Eames’ body against his. The feel of his naked form sliding against Arthur’s. The friction between their bodies.

The way it’d feel to finally have this. 

But he slows down. He listens to Eames. He gets some of his wits about him again.

Because, yes, he wants to savor this. Wants Eames to take him apart slowly, completely.

He wants Eames to take everything Arthur is offering.

And then give him more.

“Okay, okay, yeah.” Arthur takes a minute to breathe deep, Eames still holding his wrists in his warm palms, holding him gently now.

He slides their fingers together, just interlaced between them, holding on and not letting go.

“You okay now, darling?” Eames asks with a small, tentative smile.

Arthur shakes his head yes. It feels almost too tenuous now to speak, this thing between them, this massive thing that they’ve been leading up to for years.

Somehow Arthur has always known they’d be here, be together, ever since the first job they worked. Standing on this precipice. But never before has Arthur been willing to let it go any further than a kiss here or there.

Even that was often too much for his heart to handle.

Letting himself have this is almost more than he can handle.

But something has changed between them now and Arthur wants so badly that he’s willing to get his heart trampled on for a moment of bliss with Eames.

“You going to fuck me, darling?”

“Not this time, Mr. Eames.” Arthur says, flippantly.

“Now, get over here and take these clothes off me. Carefully now.” Arthur doesn’t really care if Eames takes them off carefully or not, but now that they’ve slowed down it only seems prudent to be more delicate with each other.

To makes Eames wait a little longer.

To make himself wait a little longer. 

Eames strips Arthur’s shirt off like a man unveiling a precious artifact, slipping it over his head and ruffling his wild curls. Eames runs both hands through Arthur’s hair as soon as he throws the shirt behind himself onto the armchair near the closet.

He tugs just a little bit.

Arthur lets out a filthy moan. 

Eames smiles and does it again.

Arthur groans, arms coming up to tug Eames’ hands down to the button of his jeans.

“Clothes, Eames. Don’t get distracted,” Arthur demands.

“You’re no fun, pet.” But Eames gives into Arthur’s wishes and gets back on task. Sort of.

Instead of listening to Arthur’s demands about clothes, Eames slowly runs his hands up Arthur’s svelte form, from his sharp hipbones to his strong shoulders, up his neck and to the back of his head.

He pulls Arthur into a kiss.

Arthur lets go and accepts.

Eames kisses him without tongue, just light kisses, ones that make Arthur melt inside. He keeps coming back for more, deepening them slowly, letting Arthur take the lead now.

Arthur is too far gone for gentle, languid kisses right now. He wants more. Wants deeper, filthier kisses that consume them both. Slow but with lots of tongue, feeling each other out.

Eames keeps his hands on the sides of Arthur’s neck, playing with the hairs there and making sure to pull just a little bit every so often to hear Arthur’s moans.

Arthur moves his hands down Eames’ body, pulling at his clothes and effectively stripping him until he’s only in his underwear. It takes some maneuvering, but they say Arthur is the best in the business for a reason, and a pair of already unbuttoned trousers and an ugly, open belt won’t stop him.

Arthur stands still after removing Eames’ clothing, just looking at him for a moment.

Arthur can’t help but think he is so beautiful. So unflinching under Arthur’s devouring eyes. 

He pulls Eames’ body into his, not letting up on the kisses, but sliding his leg between them so he can rub up against Eames’ form, his jean-clad body almost providing too much friction.

Eames breaks the kisses long enough to talk to Arthur.

“How about we get you out of those jeans, now, hmm?”

“If you’d be so kind, Eames.”

Eames runs his hands down Arthur’s body, stopping here and there to pinch a nipple or play with his sparse chest hair, sliding his hands over his ribs, raking his nails over his hipbones.

The button pops open too easily from between Eames’ fingers, zipper falling down, jeans catching around his upper thighs. It takes a little more time getting Arthur the rest of the way out of his skinny jeans, but they make it work.

Now, they are both in just their underwear and Arthur his ankle holster for his knife, and Arthur is so turned on he can hardly think, let alone take the lead.

Eames removes the ankle holster, setting it on the nightstand, then tumbles them onto the bed, pulling Arthur towards him until they’re pressed up against each other, Arthur on top. Arthur feels exposed in the best way possible. Laid almost completely bared to Eames’ gaze.

Arthur rocks them together, creating the best kinds of friction between their bodies, cocks rubbing together between two very thin layers of fabrics. He pulls Eames’ hands up to his hips, letting him hold on as Arthur creates the best kind of contact, the type that sends pleasure zipping up and down his spine. 

“More, Eames.”

“Hush, pet, I’ve got you.”

He pulls Arthur into another series of kisses.

“Please.”

The frottage is good but not enough for Arthur. He wants more. Wants everything. Wants Eames inside him. His strong body completely enveloping Arthur’s, gliding his cock inside him and thrusting nice and deep, so Arthur can feel every moment of pleasure. 

That desperation again.

Arthur feels so empty, needy.

Unlike himself.

He need Eames. Wants Eames.

“I want you to slip inside me. Please, Eames. I need it.”

He knows Eames want to and Eames knows Arthur wants it too now. Wants Eames to be inside him. So deep. So he feels so full of him.

“Need you to hold tightly to my hips. Taking me, thrusting relentlessly, turning me inside out and into a moaning mess. Pull my hair and make me scream for you.”

Arthur can’t believe half the stuff that’s coming out of his mouth, but he wants so much. To finally have this and not get what he wants is not an option.

“Please, Eames?”

Giving them both what they want.

“Arthur.”

All he needs is that. Eames saying his name and he lets out a deep breath. Lets all the want and need and emptiness bleed out a little bit, give him clarity of mind again.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, darling. I want all of that too and more. Let me take these off.”

Eames runs his hands up and down Arthur’s body to his sharp hips, peeling his underwear down his long legs, making the hairs on his legs stand up. Arthur’s back arching into the caress. So sensitive already.

Just barely a brush here. A touch there. A kiss right below his jaw.

Arthur’s turn. He presses his face into Eames’ stomach, kissing his way across his body until he gets to his underwear and slowly removes them with his teeth.

Both of them now naked. Able to look at each other in full. Take in the beauty and blemishes and everything that makes their bodies unique. Eames’ eyes track to the scar from the bullet wound from Chicago. Arthur moves closer and distracts Eames with a sweet kiss.

Eames pulls Arthur back into his lap, letting him straddle his thighs. He leans in and kisses Arthur back, a softness that slows down the need within them both.

They rock together again, slower this time, liquid rolls of their hips turning them on the more they swivel their bodies together.

They keep kissing while they move, Arthur biting into Eames’ plush lower lip without being able to help himself. Eames smiles after the kiss and returns the favor. The kisses from then on turn wet, filthy meetings of their mouths together, noses brushing, tongues clashing, teeth sometimes getting in the way.

They are done taking it slow.

“How do you want it, darling?”

“I want you to take me from behind. Is that okay?”

“Anything you want, Arthur.”

Arthur gets off Eames’ lap, letting Eames move over and grab the lube and a condom, then settling a pillow on the middle of the bed. Arthur lays himself out for Eames, pillow under his hips, moving himself into a comfortable position.

It feels good, Eames’ hands running down the inside of his upper thighs slowly oh so slowly moving downward towards his ankles and the sensitive bottoms of his feet. Eames stops at his ankles and moves his way back up, spreading Arthur’s legs further apart as he does.

Arthur turns his head, watching as Eames grabs the lube, twisting the cap off, slathering his fingers with the stuff.

He takes a deep breath. He hasn’t had this in a long time. Hasn’t allowed anyone else to get this close in this way in a very long time. But he wants this. Badly. And with only Eames.

Eames warms the lube up in his hand, letting the cold seep away, caressing Arthur’s ass with his other hand. Arthur tenses. Barely.

“You sure this is okay, Arthur?” But he guesses Eames had felt it.

“Yes. Want you like this.”

“Then you’ll have me, darling.”

Eames spreads Arthur open, just pressing his fingers over his hole, letting the lube slip and slide around Arthur’s opening.

“Okay?”

“Yes, I’m good. Go ahead.”

Arthur wills himself to relax and it works. Eames’ first finger slides in without any problems or pain. It feels good. Eames keeps working his finger in and out, letting Arthur get used to the intrusion.

“Another, Eames.”

“Not yet, pet.”

Eames takes his time opening Arthur up, one finger for longer than needed, then another and another and it feels so amazing Arthur can’t help but arch back and meet the thrusts of Eames’ fingers. Eames doesn’t touch his prostate though.

“I want you inside, Eames. Hurry up.” Arthur demands.

“Always so demanding, my darling.”

“Shut up, Mr. Eames and do as you’re told.”

Eames shuts up and does as he’s told.

Arthur smirks.

Then Eames pulls at his hips and pushes into him slowly. And Arthur’s smirk evolves into more of a small, happy smile. He sighs.

It feels good, Eames’ hands running down his body, kisses places upon his shoulders, his back, his neck, anywhere Eames can reach with that luscious mouth of his.

“Come down here, let me feel all of you.”

Eames moves their bodies together until their shoulders and thighs and everything in between is touching, every movement felt by the other.

Pressed against his back, hands holding each other’s fingers laced together, uneven calluses pressed together, rubbing back and forth as Eames pushes Arthur up the bed.

“Love you like this, pet. Yes, put a leg up here, there that’s good.” Eames pushes in deeper but still with that slow slide that’s driving Arthur crazy. Crazy but feeling so incredible.

“You’re gorgeous, darling. Look at you, all spread out for me, opening up for my cock like you were made for me.”

Then, the kisses come back, to the hypersensitive bit of skin on Arthur’s neck, the one Eames always played with so carefully when they worked together. Skimming his fingers near but never really touching. It’s so different now that it’s his mouth. His tongue. His teeth.

“Fuck, it feels amazing. More.”

Eames keeps kissing Arthur, around his neck and turns his jaw, craning his neck to get at his lips, breathing in each other’s air more than actually kissing. It makes Arthur smile. Then arch his back and steal a quick kiss.

Eames smiles back. Then runs his hands up and down the sides of Arthur’s body, stopping at his ribs and gives them a light touch that makes Arthur’s body twist. Arthur laughs.

“Ticklish, darling?”

“Stop it, Mr. Eames!”

Arthur laughs again and Eames repeats the movement.

Arthur always dreamed sex with Eames would be hot. He just never dreamed it would also be fun and playful.

And make Arthur so happy.

Arthur squeezes his muscles around Eames’ cock and that’s it for being playful anymore.

Eames thrusts in hard. Just once. But enough.

He pulls Arthur’s hips into the air, head still pillowed on his forearms, mind clear and happy.

Eames tries to keep his thrusts slow, Arthur can feel it, but soon he is picking up his pace, the slow slide not enough for either of them. He keeps the depth as much as possible but even that is a struggle when Arthur is moving beneath him now, trying to find the right angle.

And then Eames finds it.

“Fuck. Right there, Eames.”

Eames tries to keep the same angle, making it so good for Arthur. Speeding up just a bit to get them better friction. It’s good. It’s so good. Arthur can barely stand it.

“A little harder.”

Hands curling over Arthur’s biceps, not holding him down, just caressing, pressing down, giving Arthur somewhere else to focus on when the pleasure becomes too much. Because Arthur can feel his body tense up, can feel his muscles squeezing Eames cock, can feel the way his hips can’t stop jumping back and forth, his body wanting more pleasure.

Eames thrusts harder. Pushing Arthur up the bed, until Arthur gets a one handed grip on the comforter, the other resting on the headboard, ready to push back when Eames thrusts. It feels so good, having Eames inside him. Filling him up. Pressing on all those places that need it so badly when Arthur is all empty.

Eames runs his hand slowly down Arthur’s spine, right down to his ass, caress light and teasing. Then, fingers digging into skin, the feel of his nails scraping over his lower back, followed by wet kisses. 

Eames makes a salacious remark about Arthur’s ass and Arthur only throws a wink back at him.

Arthur is happy. Happier than he can ever remember being before.

How did that happen?

He doesn’t know but now isn’t the time for caring.

Eames is thrusting his hips harder now, really giving it to Arthur, filling him up, pushing and pulling him into every thrust until Arthur can barely keep up.

Dragging fingers over his trim stomach, down, down, down lower, until he reaches Arthur’s cock, tugging on it a few times before moving his hands to his hips, pulling him down the bed.

Arthur parts his legs further apart. Trying to get him deeper, needing him deeper. Shoving back against Eames, trying and trying to get more.

“Harder, Eames.”

His back arches, moving back against Eames, trying to get him to give it to him harder. Arthur always wants harder. He needs to teach him that. But somehow Eames always knows exactly what he needs but seems to be withholding it until the very end, until he’s a sobbing mess probably, wanting to hear him beg, but Arthur is never letting those words slip past his lips.

Begging with his body instead he can do though.

“Pull out for a second.”

“What? Why?” Eames asks. “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

“I’m fine. Nothing, Eames. Just do as I say.”

Eames pulls out of Arthur. Arthur turns their bodies around into a new position on their sides, Arthur’s leg raised, and giving Eames room to work himself inside of Arthur again. Arthur wants to be able to kiss Eames.

Arthur smiles when Eames pushes back in, that euphoric feeling returning even more than before if that’s even possible. In this position, Eames has to find the correct angle again but when he does Arthur can’t help but moan.

Normally, Arthur is a quiet lover. He enjoys himself immensely but isn’t vocal. Eames is making him do things even he didn’t know his body was capable of expressing.

Eames is kissing Arthur’s eyelids and working his way down to his dimples, pressing in just that much harder, passing right over Arthur’s prostate, sending pleasure throughout his body.

Arthur explores Eames too, the salty taste of Eames’ skin, the sweat hugging his body, making them all slippery together, it’s something Arthur wants to remember forever.

This closeness.

This shared experience.

He will dream of it.

Eames can get a better grip on Arthur’s cock this way, moving his hand up and down smoothly, trying to pull Arthur over the edge with him. Eames gives a few shorter, hard trusts, embedding himself within Arthur’s body, getting close to his climax. He strips Arthur’s cock and they go over into climax close together.

Arthur and Eames both pant, breath coming hard between them, coming down from their highs.

Eames gives Arthur a chaste kiss, then detaches their bodies slowly, making sure Arthur is okay. He is fine. Better than fine. He feels incredible.

“Move, Eames. C’mere.”

“Why? I’m comfy.”

“I want to kiss you, you idiot.”

Arthur flips their position, doing some maneuvering, then straddles Eames, smiling down at him. He leans down, giving Eames a quick peck. His mouth on Arthur’s, lips pressed so softly.

Eames smiles at him.

Arthur laughs. He just feels so good.

So happy.

***

They turn out the lights, the soft glow of the full moon the only illumination from the floor to ceiling windows in Eames’ penthouse.

He feels good, the cool sheets against his skin, the taste of Eames still on his lips. The air from the conditioner cooling the sweat on his body.

“You’re gorgeous like this, Eames.” Arthur says, pulling back Eames’ head, pressing up to meet in a soft kiss.

He’s all sweaty and panting and worn out and all because of Arthur. Arthur is only a little bit smug. Okay, maybe a lot smug.

They don’t stop touching each other. Arthur can’t stop touching. Finally, having this, being able to skim his fingers along Eames’ tattoos, the skin above his hipbones, the trail of hair just sitting there for his fingers to play with.

The soft touch of Eames’ fingers through his disheveled hair, the whisper of his breath by his ear, the wet sweep of Eames’ tongue against his skin.

“You make me so happy, darling,” Eames whispers right into Arthur’s ear before sliding his lips down Arthur’s neck, kissing here and there, then sucking on his collarbone to leave a mark.

Arthur doesn’t stop him.

Eames smiles against his skin.

“You make me happy too, Mr. Eames.” Arthur can’t help but reveal.

It’s so easy to talk to Eames, it always has been. He can remember their first jobs together, when he’d bite his tongue to hold in the words he wanted to say.

Along the way, it became banter between them. Now, it was something more. Now, it was somehow inexplicably gratifying to reveal anything and everything to Eames.

Or almost everything.

He trusts Eames won’t hurt him.

***

They lie in the dark, the mess taken care of, just this still silence enveloping them. It’s comfortable. Eames’ fingers have found their way back to Arthur’s hair, carding through the soft strands. It’s soothing.

“I love the way you make me feel.” Arthur says, unapologetically. A truth he doesn’t mind sharing.

He doesn’t just mean the sex either. But let Eames figure that out on his own.

***

Arthur lives by rules, by a system, a database, if you will, an understand of the people around him, of collections of data, details, truths. Of others, other team members, of clients, of everyone he has ever met or plans on meeting. Of himself.

Arthur lives by: better tell the truth. Better know yourself well enough to tell the truth. And he always tells himself the truth. No matter what. No matter how lonely the world now is without his closest friend. He doesn’t lie to himself. No matter how hard it is to believe.

But for the one truth Arthur avoids.

The truth that he is tired of pretending to avoid.

That he is in love with Eames.

***

Eames lies all the time. With his body. With his words. With the way he pretends he’s not as smart as he really is. Hiding himself in plain sight by being everything everyone presumes and nothing more.

Camouflaging his real identity.

Telling a truth that no one sees.

It drives Arthur crazy. But also makes him smile softly because Eames lets him in, lets him see.

It’s special in a way Arthur can’t even describe.

To see the truth in Eames.

***

The next day they wake from a dream for their newest extraction.

The house is brightly lit by the overhead skylights. Sunshine comes in through the half-open windows on all sides of the room. A soft breeze comes into their workspace.

It’s a lovely day.

Arthur stands up suddenly from the chair, taking out the cannula a bit harshly and wrapping the tubing up, his back towards Eames.

Eames gives him his tubing to roll up.

He says nothing.

Arthur is fed up. He turns towards Eames. Getting ready to finally face the man he’s in love with and get answers.

“Want to explain what the fuck just happened?”

“Not particularly, pet.” Eames looks wary.

“Can’t you just tell me about this, Eames? It’s not that hard. I just want to know what that dream was about? Why did your projections act that way?”

“Forget the godforsaken dream for a damn minute, Arthur.”

“No. Tell me what’s happening.”

“I…fine. Just don’t…shoot me afterwards.”

Arthur raises a brow but keeps pressing Eames about the dream.

“Your projections. I haven’t asked previously. Not for years. But that time was weird, Eames. Even for your projections.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Just tell me what’s going on? They don’t act like that with anyone else, do they?”

“No.”

Arthur waits for Eames to say more.

“No. They don’t, Arthur.”

Eames turns away.

Arthur waits a minute. Eames doesn’t say anything further.

“Eames?”

“I trained them. Not to hurt you,” he says it so softly Arthur can barely understand the words coming out of Eames’ mouth. He must of heard wrong.

Maybe. 

“What? How is that even possible?”

Eames turns back around, facing Arthur and looking into his eyes.

“I don’t know, darling. Remember the Franklin job? The one where we had to practice the level a hundred times it seemed before the extractor thought it’d work?”

“Yes. I remember.”

“It happened then. I did something. Or didn’t do something. Or you were just in my head so long something happened. I don’t even know, Arthur.”

Eames turns away again. It’s frustrating the hell out of Arthur.

“Or maybe…”

“What?” Arthur asks, softly. “Please, Mr. Eames?” Arthur asks again, vulnerable in a way he never is with anyone else. But this is Eames. He always makes Arthur feel broken apart at the seams. 

Eames turns back around, taking a step back, crossing his arms around himself. Arthur has never seen Eames so defensive when it’s just been the two of them.

“You want the truth?”

Arthur does. Badly. But whatever it is, he doesn’t want to break Eames either.

“Yes,” Arthur replies, softly. “Please.”

“Fine, here goes.” Eames takes a deep breath.

“The truth is; I love you, darling.”

Arthur stands there, unmoving but the blinking of his eyes. He never thought to hear those words pass Eames’ lips.

Not said to him.

“And I think on some level my subconscious knows I could never hurt you. Not in the waking world and never in a dream either.”

Arthur swallows. And takes a deep breath.

“I love you, too, Mr. Eames.”

Eames stands there, shocked look on his face but then it slowly transforms into a broad smile. Then, he is stepping closer to Arthur.

“I have for awhile now,” Arthur confesses.

“Really now, darling?” Eames keeps walking forward until they are a foot apart.

“Yes. Took you long enough to catch up,” Arthur says with a cheeky smile.

“You could have said something, Arthur.”

“Where would the fun in that be, Mr. Eames?” Arthur smirks but it doesn’t quite work.

Eames just stands there staring at Arthur.

“I couldn’t. Okay?” Arthur chokes out, the beginning of something like tears clogging up his throat.

But no. Arthur doesn’t cry. Not anymore.

And not now.

“Oh, darling.” Eames closes the space between them, folding Arthur into his arms. Arthur never wants him to let go. “Arthur, I love you,” he whispers into Arthur’s ear, hair tickling the sides of his neck. 

Arthur moves back just enough to look into Eames’ eyes, smiling. Arthur uses one hand to pull Eames’ head to the correct angle, lining up their lips and pressing tenderly. Eames kisses back just as lovingly. They break apart reluctantly but then Eames sneaks in and presses another and another and another sweet, quick kiss to Arthur’s lips.

Arthur laughs, grinning into the kisses. 

“Just one other true thing first, darling. Since when?”

“Years. But it changed during inception.”

“Oh really now? Wanted to take me over a drafting table in the warehouse, did you love?”

“Shut up, Mr. Eames.” Arthur blushes but smiles. Happy. So happy.

“Maybe. But really it was over that nice couch in Monte Carlo, the one by the pool, if you must know.”

“Oh, darling. Don’t worry, we’ll go back, I’ll make your dreams come true.”

“Shut up, Mr. Eames.” Arthur throws the closest thing, which happens to be a pillow, at Eames’ head, the crinkles by his eyes making an appearance and his dimples come out.

“No, I’ll make _your_ dreams come true.”

“You already have, darling.”

_Fin_


End file.
